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i • ^ 


DORCASTER DAYS 













“Thea stood under the pines, calling to the squirrels.” 

See p. i2y. Frontispiece, 


Dorcaster Days 


BY 

A. G. PLYMPTON 

Author of ‘'Dear Daughter Dorothy,” “A Flower 
OF THE Wilderness,” “The Schoolhouse 
IN THE Woods,” etc. 


Illustrated from Drawings by 

J. W. F. KENNEDY 


Boston 

Little, Brown, and Company 

1907 


\ U3HARY of CONGRESS j 
Two Ootries Rowivewl 

SiP 26 im 
Cooynetit Entry 
Se-pt6 Wo? 
CL^6b .^ XXc., No, 

/87^€s 

COPY B. 



Copyright y igoj^ 
By a. G. Plympton. 


All rights reserved 


Published September, 1907 


%• 

•• 


« % 
• « 
% 0 « 
« 


GRIFFITH'STXLLINGS PRESS, BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Thea stood under the pines, calling 


TO THE squirrels’* Ffontispiece 

PAGE 

“‘Now, SWEETHEART, LET US HAVE A DANCE,’ 

CRIED Thea” 30 

“She wasted no more time, but began 

AT once” 82 

“As IF HEARING HERSELF CALLED, ThEA 

APPEARED IN THE DOORWAY” 202 



D0RCA8TER DAYS 


CHAPTER I 

^T^HERE was an unusual number of 
persons in the library as Thea Croft 
entered, intending to take out a “nice 
story.” Miss Price, the librarian, being 
busy, however, she joined a group of girls 
about her own age who had come on the 
same errand and who, while waiting, were 
discussing the books they were returning, 
generally disposing of them, however, with 
great despatch under one or the other of 
two heads, as, for instance, “awfully in- 
teresting” or “no good,” by these simple 
phrases recommending or condemning a 
story without giving themselves the trouble 
1 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to make the nice distinctions that keep the 
critics busy. 

The Dorcaster library was a medium- 
sized room in the town hall, uncomfortably 
pinched for space. Beside the librarian’s 
desk there was a large table covered with 
magazines, and chairs were set around it 
for the convenience of readers. In one of 
these chairs sat Miss Susan Pray, diligently 
copying from some domestic or family 
magazine. She had dozens of blank books 
at home filled with “choice receipts” which 
she had copied from various publications 
of this sort, and was seen at the library so 
often that she was considered a literary 
character. A receipt with a French name 
and unfamiliar ingredients especially ap- 
pealed to her, the more elaborate the 
better. One might get the idea from them 
that Parson Pray, whose sister and house- 
keeper she was, must fare sumptuously 
2 


DORCASTER DAYS 


every day, but as a matter of fact Miss 
Susan never used these receipts at all. 
She also copied “rules of etiquette” and 
“useful remedies,” and it was said in 
Dorcaster that once their poor old min- 
ister, having cut his foot when mowing, 
nearly bled to death while she was looking 
through her books to find a special pre- 
scription for his relief. 

As she came in, Thea collided with a 
young woman with her nose in a book, 
as the phrase goes. This was Miss Amelia 
Phipps, who always chose a story repre- 
senting life as different from her own as 
possible. If, in turning over the pages of 
a book, her eye lighted upon such a phrase 
as, “I cry you mercy, good Sir,” or 
“Zounds, I’m a man of honor, and I say 
no more than my sword will make good,” 
she took it on the spot. In truth she read 
so many stories of this class that, as she 
3 


DORCASTER DAYS 


once confessed, it had become diflScult to 
use the language of the present day. Had 
she not recollected herself in good time no 
doubt she would have cried out upon Thea, 
who was almost upset by the shock: — 

“God help thee, poor monkey, for ’tis 
by good hap, indeed, if I have not knocked 
out of thy head the little wit He has given 
thee.” 

Throughout the room the remarks of a 
dressy little old maid, who was standing by 
the librarian’s desk looking over the books 
upon it, were distinctly audible. 

“These stories of New England village 
life are curious, aren’t they, Mrs. Libby 
she was saying to an acquaintance. “You’d 
think to read ’em that women in country 
villages do nothing but make patchwork 
quilts. I don’t believe I’ve seen any one 
make a patchwork quilt in years an’ years. 
Listen to this now,” she interrupted herself, 
4 


DORCASTER DAYS 


taking up one of the books and reading 
from it : — 

“‘“If that bread ain’t good it’s due to 
the raisin’s,” said Miss Mehitable as she 
lifted the pan to the shelf over the stove. 
“Jemima’s raisin’s ain’t never so good as 
mine.” She then flew to the spare room 
and proceeded to array herself in her 
Sunday best. This was a green delaine 
made with a full skirt and a low waist with 
a bertha — ’ 

“Isn’t that ridiculous.^” demanded the 
Dorcaster lady, dropping the book, and 
turning a pair of ironical eyes to her com- 
panion. “As if anybody makes bread with 
raisings in these days when there isu’t a 
village from Boston to Way-back where 
you can’t get compressed yeast. And a 
green delaine: I don’t believe you can 
find one in Massachusetts.” 

“Made with a bertha, too!” exclaimed 


5 


DORCASTER DAYS 


her friend with equal disdain. “Why you 
can get Buttrick’s patterns all over the 
world — There’s Dr. Derby ! What does 
he want in the library, I wonder ! ” 

The doctor, a large, burly man with 
heavy eyebrows and a grisly beard, instantly 
gratified her curiosity by announcing in his 
deep bass : — 

“Miss Price, I came in to get a card.” 

Dr. Derby was a newcomer in Dorcaster, 
having taken old Dr. Vesey’s practice, and 
he, therefore, had the fascination of a per- 
son with unknown habits and a past that 
must be thoroughly investigated. Dr. Vesey 
had never patronized the library, and it 
seemed to most of those who now turned 
their attention to his successor, that to wish 
a card argued light-mindedness unbecom- 
ing in one of his grave profession. 

At this moment, however, a new arrival 
diverted attention from the doctor. This 
6 


DORCASTER DAYS 


was Amy Carew, a girl of perhaps thirteen 
years, very pretty and with the manner of 
one who expects attention. She was the 
daughter of a wealthy and liberal widow, 
who had a beautiful summer home in 
Dorcaster, and she had an air decidedly 
different from that of the village lassies. 
Although not over-dressed, she had the ele- 
gance, the daintiness, that come from a 
luxurious style of living, and you could not 
think of her wiping the breakfast dishes, 
getting chips for kindling, or performing 
any of those humble tasks that fell to the 
share of the Dorcaster girls. 

On reaching the desk she said to Miss 
Price with a beaming, benevolent-fairy 
smile that included everybody : — 

‘‘Mamma is going to let me give a library 
to Dorcaster. It’s to be a lovely little 
stone building and the reading room is to 
have an open fireplace. It’s in honor of 
7 


DORCASTER DAYS 


my birthday, and I just had to stop to tell 
you about it.” 

Murmurs of delight and approval ran 
through the room, while Miss Price’s ap- 
preciation gushed out in a torrent that 
was only checked by a sudden movement 
of impatience on the part of Dr. Derby. 

“Come, come. Miss Price,” he said, tap- 
ping on the desk. “My Lady Bountiful 
will wait while you make out my card. A 
sick and suffering child is waiting for me 
at Pleasant Corner.” 

“Certainly, attend to the doctor first, 
Miss Price. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” 
said Amy prettily; but privately she won- 
dered why, if he was in haste to reach a 
patient, he should stop to take out a card. 

While the librarian made out the card, 
the doctor turned to the children who were 
bunched together like sheep, looking in 
awed admiration at Amy Carew. 

8 


DORCASTER DAYS 


‘‘I’d like to have you recommend a nice 
story — the most interesting one in the 
library,” he said to them. 

“Oh, ‘Rebecca, Rebecca of Sunnybrook 
Farm,’” answered the children, as in one 
voice, while the older persons looked at 
each other significantly at this evidence 
of immaturity in the man to whom they 
were to intrust their lives. 

“Please give me ‘Oh, Rebecca, Rebecca 
of Sunnybrook Farm,”’ the doctor said to 
Miss Price as she gave him his card. 

“You see,” he explained, as the librarian 
went off to look up a copy of this popular 
tale, “this little patient of mine needs 
something interesting enough to make her 
forget her pain. She lives at Pleasant 
Corner, and I understand that the people 
there are not allowed the privilege of the 
library. Why is that. Miss Pray?” 

Pleasant Corner was a subject studiously 
9 


DORCASTER DAYS 


avoided in conversation by Dorcaster 
people. The condition of things in this 
little settlement, made up of the workers in 
the tin factories, was deplorable — a dis- 
grace to civilization and more especially to 
its nearest neighbor, the town of Dorcaster. 
Such efforts, however, as had been made 
to improve it had come to npthing, and 
people had at last settled down to the idea 
that it was a hopeless problem. Miss Pray 
moved a little uneasily in her chair as she 
answered : — 

“Pleasant Corner is outside the town 
limits.” 

“Fiddlesticks!” cried the doctor, look- 
ing sharply at her from under his eyebrows. 

“And they are mostly foreigners there 
anyhow,” Miss Susan went on, coloring a 
little. “They can’t read English, most 
likely can’t read at all, and they are so 
dirty that if the books went down there we 
10 


DORCASTER DAYS 


should have all sorts of awful diseases 
brought back to us.” 

“And you think, of course, that the best 
cure for such sore spots is neglect,” said 
the doctor with a sort of snort. “See 
here. Lady Bountiful,” he said, turning to 
Amy Carew, “what would you do if you 
had a brother 'kidnapped in childhood, 
brought up among the ‘dirty’ and ‘igno- 
rant’ poor, and now suddenly restored to 
you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Amy, 
“but I should be sorry for him.” 

“Yes, you’d be sorry for him. That’s 
the right beginning, and you wouldn’t turn 
your back on him, would you, and let him 
keep on as before ? He would be ignorant, 
unambitious of improvement, perhaps even 
wicked. Nevertheless, he would be your 
brother, your very own. You would feel 
that his degradation degraded you, and 
11 


DORCASTER DAYS 


you would wince at every evidence of his 
inferiority. Well, then, first you would 
reinstate him in his rightful place in the 
family, sharing with him all your advan- 
tages, all your inspiring influences. With 
your nicest tact you would try to show him 
where he was wrong, and to stimulate his 
ambition. You would be patient, too, re- 
membering how he was handicapped, and 
you would look for good in him as a miser 
looks for a lost sixpence. Yes, if you are 
the sort of girl I take you for. Lady Boun- 
tiful, that is what you would do.” 

“Oh, I’m sure I should,” murmured 
Amy. 

“So then,” the doctor went on with a 
glance at Miss Susan, who, having just 
finished copying “A Sure Remedy for the 
Bite of Snakes,” was listening intently, “if 
we really believe in brotherhood, that’s the 
spirit we should show toward those Pleas- 

n 


DORCASTER DAYS 


ant Corner people. Ignorant and dirty as 
they are, they are our brothers and their 
degradation degrades us. Every time one 
of them looks at me, I feel that he is re- 
proaching me for the condition he is in, 
and I’m sure you would feel the bond, if 
you could see this little patient of mine, 
whose eyes look up with such supplication, 
as if she said, ‘I am your sister. Oh, 
yes, your poor little sister, who lies here 
suffering day after day. Be faithful to 
me!’ ” 

There was silence for a moment in the 
Dorcaster library. Then the lady who had 
been curious to know the doctor’s errand 
asked : — 

“Is it that Ryan child who was hurt 
when the factory burned?” 

The doctor nodded. 

“Acted as if she was wild, folks said,” 
struck in her friend; “they couldn’t keep 
13 


DORCASTER DAYS 


her out of the burning building, she was 
that determined to find her father.” 

“A poor specimen of a father, too, accord- 
ing to all accounts,” exclaimed Miss Susan. 

“Yet there was some good in him,” in- 
terrupted the doctor, “for his child loved 
him. Even now she grieves for him more 
than for her own hurts, though she knows 
she may be a cripple all her life.” 

The doctor took the book Miss Price 
now brought him and would have left the 
library, had it not been for Thea Croft, 
who, detaching herself from the group of 
children, now claimed his attention. 

It was plain that some strong emotion 
overcame a native reserve that had hitherto 
checked all expression of the interest she 
felt in what had passed. The color came 
and went in her cheeks, but her large soft 
eyes looked unfiinchingly into the doctor’s 
as she said : — 


14 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“I wouldn’t take her that story, after all. 
Rebecca was strong and did all sorts of 
splendid things, and I think it will make 
her remember how she has been hurt, and 
may never be able to do anything herself 
all her life.” 

The doctor looked down at his adviser 
with an air of interest. 

“Upon my word,” he exclaimed at last, 
“you have a head-piece, haven’t you.^ 
You actually take the trouble to think! 
Very few people do that, so you shall 
choose a book for Katy yourself.” 

Thus commissioned, Thea indicated a 
book which one of her companions was 
returning. 

“It’s just fairy tales,” she explained, 
“and all the wonderful things that are 
done in it are done by the fairies.” 

“Fairy tales, eh.^^” said the doctor. 
“Bravo, that’s just the thing.” And off he 
15 


DORCASTER DAYS 


went in a hurry with the book under his 
arm, oblivious of library rules, which re- 
quired that its number should first be set 
down on his card. 


CHAPTER II 


T^^HAT Dr. Derby had said in the 
^ ^ library about Katy Ryan, the child 
who had been hurt in the burning factory, 
made a deep impression upon his young 
hearers and upon none deeper than Amy 
Carew, for she had by nature a kind heart and 
it was always easy to work upon her mobile 
sympathies. It was this that moved her to 
invite Thea Croft to spend the day with her. 

The Croft farm and Lynwood, as the 
Carews called their place, were side by 
side, and in early childhood Amy and Thea 
had been playfellows. In those innocent 
days Amy no more questioned the social 
importance of her companion than a daisy 
would look down upon another daisy, and 
the two were inseparable. For the last 
17 


DORCASTER DAYS 


three summers, however, they had seen 
little of each other. The beauty of its 
rolling hills and lovely blue river had 
attracted people to Dorcaster. Several fine 
estates were now within driving distance 
from Lynwood, which furnished Amy with 
all the young companionship she needed. 
Then, during these years, Cora Redmond, 
her favorite cousin, had made her long 
visits each summer, during which time she 
was independent of outsiders. These girls 
gave her a standard of comparison by 
which, in some ways that seemed important 
to Amy, poor Thea was found wanting. 
When they met she tried by extra kindness 
to cover this new sense of superiority, this 
feeling of a distinction between them, but 
Thea seemed to divine it and to refuse the 
base metal of condescending politeness in 
place of the true gold of the heart. 

The Crofts were considered very eccen- 
18 


DORCASTER DAYS 


trie in Dorcaster, and their manner of life 
was certainly, in many respects, different 
from that of other people. While in the 
homes of all Thea’s acquaintances the ten- 
dency was to make life more difficult and 
elaborate, in her own simplicity was striven 
for, giving freedom from worry and haste. 
In her early married life Thea’s mother had 
been delicate, and her husband insisted on 
a life spent mostly in the open and on a 
simple, pure, and cleanly diet, which re- 
leased her from the drudgery of continual 
baking, broiling, and frying. When her 
health became robust, as it soon did, the 
hardy nature life with its serenity and 
leisure, its manifold interests, its charming 
acquaintances in furs or feathers, its healthy 
appetite for simple fare, seemed too good to 
be exchanged for formality and daintinesses. 
Thea could not remember having seen her 
father or mother nervously wrought up, 
19 


DORCASTER DAYS 


irritable, or too busy over trifles to respond 
to any call from their children for sympathy 
in their work or play. The difference in 
such ways between Mrs. Croft arid the 
worn and impatient house-mothers among 
their neighbors was conspicuous, and Thea 
infinitely preferred her own home to any 
she had ever seen. Still, what girl of her 
age is independent of the opinion of her 
acquaintances ? When her friends came to 
see her she winced at their half-concealed 
surprise at the plainness of the fare set 
before them. When, for instance, the la- 
dies’ church alliance met at their house, 
sponge cake and lemonade were offered 
instead of the usual more elaborate and 
expensive dainties, and the difference in 
money was used to secure the presence of 
a bright little Japanese lady in the pretty 
costume of her country who spoke on the 
customs and life of Japan. It was so in- 
20 


DORCASTER DAYS 


teresting and the meeting was so unusually 
pleasant that one might think the innovation 
in the matter of refreshments might have been 
overlooked, but disagreeable remarks were 
made on this example of Croft queerness, 
which were duly reported by Molly Miggs, 
who did the family’s washing. Since the 
other members of the household looked 
upon the matter as one of trifling impor- 
tance, or even with amusement, Thea 
would not have owned for worlds how 
much mortiflcation it caused her, but she 
did hate to be unlike other people, and the 
many trials of this sort would have been 
past bearing, had it not been for the adora- 
tion she bore her father, who was chiefly 
responsible for their departure from the 
conventional course. His philosophy of 
life, which he was fond of expounding, had 
earned for him the derisive title of ‘‘the 
Dorcaster sage.” 


21 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Some of his ideas were certainly startling. 
For instance, at the time the question of 
building a new church was raised, he main- 
tained that the old one was plenty large 
enough for the congregation except when 
it was increased by the summer visitors, and 
as they came to Dorcaster ‘‘for the air,” 
services during their stay might be held in 
the woods behind the church. Of course 
this plan was not considered for a moment, 
and a large “edifice,” which the summer 
visitors ungratefully called “a nightmare 
of architecture,” took the place of the 
pleasant old meeting-house. It had a mort- 
gage upon it of a size to correspond, and 
to help pay it off the adjoining woods, that 
had been so useful for Sunday-school picnics 
and other festivities, were cut down. In 
winter the congregation that used to fill 
the old church comfortably felt lonesome 
and cold in the new one; for it was difficult 
22 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to heat the superfluous space. Still, no 
one regretted that Israel Croft’s advice had 
not been taken and Dorcaster made the 
laughing stock of all the country round- 
about. 

Although his forbears had always been 
called upon to serve the town in an offi- 
cial capacity, owing to his eccentricity his 
townsmen never dared appoint him to any 
office, and it was only in his own house- 
hold that he could carry out the ideas 
which seemed to him so practical and good, 
and to his fellows so absurd. 

The consciousness of the family reputa- 
tion made Thea more reserved than nature 
intended. She was inclined to let others 
make all advances, and with Amy Carew, 
more than with any other girl, she felt ill 
at ease. She was far more conscious of 
the' disparity between them than Amy 
could be. 

23 


DORCASTER DAYS 


From all this it must not be inferred that 
Thea was unhappy. Her home life was 
too pleasant for that. The Crofts were a 
united family, and Thea’s two brothers were 
never tired of devising ways of pleasing 
her. Moreover she was one of the girls 
who have plenty of resources within them- 
selves, and are never at a loss for the 
means of enjoyment. She could make even 
her tasks enjoyable; for unlimited idling 
was no part of the family programme. In 
fact, one of Israel Croft’s pet theories was 
that manual work, even so-called coarse 
work, helps to refine the character, and 
that a luxurious life leads to a lack of 
sympathy, giving a daintiness that comes 
between one and humanity. He taught his 
daughter, as his sons, that no necessary 
work could be beneath them. 

Such ideas were far away from any 
thought of Amy Carew’s. No doubt, if 
24 


DORCASTER DAYS 


she were asked if she did not consider all 
work honorable, she would answer in the 
affirmative, but the rougher sort of labor 
she felt to be honorable only in people of 
a low social class. For this reason, when 
she came to the Croft farm one day to 
give an invitation to Thea, and found her 
occupied in cleaning out the colt’s stall, she 
was not only shocked, but, as Thea in- 
stantly guessed, in spite of her affability, 
much disgusted. 

As she first caught sight of her visitor 
Thea’s color deepened, and her first im- 
pulse was to cast away the broom she was 
using, but on second thought she went 
forward with it in her hand. As she after- 
wards said, she and Amy made a fine 
tableau of “Velvet and homespun,” for 
Amy was dressed in a daintily-made white 
dimity and a “picture hat.” She wore 
around her neck a delicate little gold chain 
25 


DORCASTER DAYS 


with a tiny locket, and under one arm she 
carried a small terrier with a long silky 
gray coat, adorned by a big orange bow; 
while Thea was dressed for her work and 
adorned only by wisps of hay in her hair 
and on her garments. 

“Father and the boys are gone to 

she said, mentioning the county town, in 
explanation of her occupation, “and as they 
had to start very early in the morning, they 
left some of the chores for me.” 

“Well, I should draw the line at cleaning 
out stalls,” said Amy. “It’s man’s work 
anyhow.” 

“Yes, it is, if the man is round to do 
it,” Thea assented. “But I had only 
Ladylove’s stall to clean, and I don’t mind 
doing things for Ladylove. Come and see 
what a beauty she is ! ” 

The colt, while her stall was being cleaned, 
was turned loose, and stood in the middle 


26 


DORCASTER DAYS 


of the barn feeding herself from a pail of 
apples. Leading Amy up to her, Thea 
turned her first this way and then that, to 
show her handsome face and her glossy 
chestnut coat, meantime continuing her 
explanations. 

“I offered to do all the chores, I was so 
anxious for father and the boys to get off 
early. Our old black Pete, who worked 
here so long, has got into trouble. By 
some mistake he has been put in jail, and 
they have gone to get him out. However, 
I’m nearly through now, and if you’ll wait 
just a few minutes we’ll amuse ourselves.” 

‘‘I’ve named my horse ‘Firefly,’” said 
Amy, sitting down on a mound of hay. 
“I thought it was very pretty, but Lady- 
love is even prettier.” 

“Fanshawe names our animals, for before 
any one else can think of a good name he 
has the right one ready. That white horse 
27 


DORCASTER DAYS 


over there he calls ‘The Lily-maid of 
Astolat/ or Lily-maid for short. She has a 
very affectionate disposition, and when the 
great black horse that father raised with 
her was sold, the one called Launcelot, you 
know, she grieved herself almost to death. 
Fanshawe says that Mr. Tennyson wrote a 
poem about it, only he pretended that Lily- 
maid was a young woman and Launcelot 
a knight.” 

“In the poem I believe the Lily-maid 
died,” Amy said reflectively; “they mostly 
do, in poetry.” 

“Well, the real Lily-maid didn’t die,” 
her friend declared, looking at the white 
mare. “Father is too good a horse doctor 
for that.” 

“What’s the name of the horse in the 
next stall ” asked Amy, pointing to an old 
rackabone beast. 

“That one is almost fifty years old, and 
28 


is called the Orahippus/’ her friend replied, 
going back to her task. “The orahippus, 
you see, is the ancestor of the horse. Fan- 
shawe says so, anyhow, but he is so fond of 
quizzing you can’t really tell. And the big 
gray horse in the box stall is named Tricksy. 
She’s the one Dave drives, and he thinks 
she is wonderfully intelligent because she 
has learned so many tricks. But you can 
teach any horse tricks if you love him and 
are kind. Ladylove knows a lot.” 

“Oh, make her do some of them,” cried 
Amy, jumping up. 

Thea threw down her broom and came 
out of the stall. She began to pat the 
glossy neck of her favorite, and to talk to 
her to get her into a good humor, as she 
said. 

“Come then, sweetheart,” she crooned 
at last. “Show the lady how you look 
when you feel sentimental.” 

29 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Instantly Ladylove turned her head on 
one side and looked out of the corner of 
her eyes with so languishing an expression 
that Amy laughed outright. 

“Now, sweetheart, let us have a dance,” 
cried Thea. 

As she spoke, she picked up her skirts 
and began to take dance-steps in front of 
the colt, who, in the daintiest fashion, step- 
ping forward and back, follow^ed her the 
whole length of the barn. Here the one 
made a curtsey, the other a bow, and then, 
treading the same measure, they came back 
to the starting-point. It was prettily done, 
in no workaday spirit on the part of the 
colt, and Thea, thinking only of showing 
off her favorite, had the charm of utter 
self-unconsciousness, moving with the lan- 
guorous grace of a swaying pine branch. 

Several other tricks followed, then the 
show-woman said : — 


30 



‘ Now, aWEETHEART^LET US. HAVE A DANCE,’ CRIED ThEA.”^ 

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DORCASTER DAYS 


“Oh, she is tired now; it is time to rest,” 
whereupon Ladylove nodded drowsily and 
laid her head on Thea’s shoulder. 

It seemed to Amy that there was a 
mysterious link between the two, so respon- 
sive was the horse to the girl’s wish. Was 
the mysterious link only love, as Thea be- 
lieved ? Amy had noticed that when Thea 
looked into Ladylove’s eyes it was with a 
gentle, calm, and expectant gaze, and that 
her voice, instead of being loud and per- 
emptory, was hardly above a whisper. 

“Does Firefly know any tricks.^” asked 
Thea, who was now feeding Ladylove with 
apples. 

“One; he carries me round wherever I 
wish to go,” was the answer. “That’s a 
pretty good trick I think. But you really 
ought to exhibit the colt. You could make 
money.” 

Amy now bethought her of the errands 
31 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to the village which she was to attend to 
for her mother, and delivered her invitation. 

Remembering her last visit to Lynwood, 
which was a distinctly disagreeable experi- 
ence, Thea seized the first excuse that 
offered itself. 

“Mother is going to clean house to-mor- 
row and will need me, so I can’t go.” 

Amy’s face showed a genuine disappoint- 
ment. Her fondness for her old playfellow 
had been steadily reviving; for in truth, 
when herself, there was something magnetic 
about Thea. 

“ Well, it must be some other day then,” 
she insisted. “It can’t be any day this 
week though, for I have an engagement for 
each one, and next week I’m going to the 
seashore with mamma, but as soon as I 
come back we must set a day.” 

“Oh, yes. I’ll come some day,” Thea 
hastily interposed; for some day, with its 
32 


DORCASTER DAYS 


hundred and one chances for escape, seems 
just made for the fulfilment of disagreeable 
promises. 

“Still, I’d much rather have you to-mor- 
row, for I’m going to be alone, except for 
Rand. He is sick and grumpy and stays 
by himself all the time.” Rand was Amy’s 
only brother. “Mamma is going away, 
and Miss Brown, my new governess, is 
having her vacation. There are some lovely 
new flowers in the conservatory that you 
will like to see, we can play golf if it isn’t 
too hot, and if it is we can have a ride in 
the automobile. Then I’m to order the 
luncheon myself, so we can have just the 
things girls like.” 

“It’s too bad I can’t come,” said Thea 
cheerfully. 

“If I explained how things are, I believe 
your mother would let you off, she’s so 
sweet,” Amy exclaimed. 

33 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Oh, even if she would, I shouldn’t be 
happy to go and leave her to do everything 
herself,” Thea expostulated. 

But already Amy had started for the 
house, her white dress held out by the 
breeze like a sail aslant as she ran, the ter- 
rier under her arm barking furiously. 

Thea watched her with gloom. 

“Mother will be sure to let me go. She’ll 
think I want to,” she said to herself, as 
she turned away to finish her task. “I 
wish with all my heart she was one of 
those horrid stern parents we read of, who 
believe in all work and no play and never 
want their children to enjoy themselves.” 

As she anticipated, Amy gained her point 
and returned triumphant. She and Mrs. 
Croft had arranged that Thea was to go 
to Lynwood at eleven o’clock the next 
morning. 

As her work at the barn was done, Thea 
34 


DORCASTER DAYS 


accompanied her friend to the gate, where 
her horse was hitched, and watched the 
gay little trap drive away. When it was 
quite out of sight she flung herself in a 
dejected heap on one of the side seats of 
the porch, where her mother was sitting 
with her sewing. The porch was very 
pleasant, bowered by honeysuckle, and 
shaded by two old cherry trees. The bees 
humming in the honeysuckle and the sound 
made by Ladylove cropping the clover in 
the dooryard — for she had the range of 
the place and had followed her mistress 
from the barn — alone broke the country 
stillness. Presently, however, Mrs. Croft 
raised her eyes and noticed how unusually 
depressed w^ere the corners of Thea’s lips. 

“I don’t want to go to Lynwood to- 
morrow,” she answ^ered when questioned 
as to the cause of her dismal face. 

‘‘That’s odd!” her mother exclaimed. 


35 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“You aren’t a bit like me, for when I was 
your age I should have been delighted with 
an invitation to a fine place like that.” 

Mrs. Croft was a pretty woman with 
light hair that waved naturally over a very 
white and serene forehead. She had blue 
eyes, gentle and sweet in expression, and 
she must have been very attractive at that 
age when she so liked to accept invitations. 
In disposition she was very sympathetic, 
for she always assumed the expression of 
the person who was speaking to her, and 
in a room full of people engaged in lively 
conversation one might get a very fair 
notion of the aspect of the speakers, in dis- 
solving views, as it were, without turning 
one’s eyes from Mrs. Croft’s face. Although 
not a talker herself, of course, she never 
had the feeling of being left out. 

“If I had only known that you don’t 
wish to go,” she said with the corners of 
36 


DORCASTER DAYS 


her own lips turned down, ‘‘I could easily 
have made Amy some excuse, but now it 
seems as if you would have to go. I told 
her that I should get Molly Miggs to help 
me, and you could go as well as not.” 

“Perhaps Molly can’t come,” suggested 
Thea, brightening. 

Mrs. Croft also brightened. “You go 
and find out, and if she can’t come, we’ll 
send word right away to Amy.” 

Thea, who was a strong, well-made girl, 
accustomed all her life to horses, called 
Ladylove, and sprang upon her back. 
With neither bridle nor saddle she rode 
gayly away, while her mother, her head on 
one side, watched her with an admiring 
smile, thinking with maternal partiality 
that she made a far more attractive picture 
than Amy Carew in her stylish turnout. 

On her return Thea jumped off the colt 
by the pasture, sending her in to graze, 
37 


DORCASTER DAYS 


and walking the rest of the way to the 
house. By her dispirited air her mother 
knew that Molly had promised to come. 

“People always can come if you don’t 
want them to, and they never can if you 
do,” she said; “though that doesn’t seem 
to be Amy’s experience with me — that is, 
if she really wants me — does it ? ” 

“Of course she really wants you,” said 
her mother. “Nobody could be more eager 
than she was about it. Amy is a dear, 
sincere friend and I’d go, if I were in your 
place, and have a real good time.” 

“Yes, you would. You would be so 
busy admiring Amy and all her beautiful 
things you would never know whether she 
despised you and yours or not; but I shall 
be miserable and awkward and disgusted. 
Oh, mother, can’t you help me to find an 
excuse to stay at home.^” 

Such depths of agony as Thea’s tone 
38 


DORCASTER DAYS 


denoted, even if the cause was dispropor- 
tionate, would move a heart of stone, and 
Mrs. Croft’s heart, especially where her 
children were concerned, was by no means 
of that character. 

‘‘I wish I could,” she said in a self- 
reproachful tone, ‘‘but I always was stupid 
in such ways, darling.” 

“Teasing people to visit you is what is 
stupid,” Thea broke out. “If a person 
makes an excuse — any excuse, no matter 
how silly — it should be enough. It shows 
that for some reason she doesn’t want to 
go. People can’t always give the real 
reason.” 

“That sounds just like your father. To 
be urged always annoys .him. Now I do 
like a real pressing invitation.” 

Mrs. Croft folded up her work and went 
into the house. Her daughter suspected 
that she was going to see that the dress 
39 


DORCASTER DAYS 


she would wear to Lynwood was in order. 
Thea’s best that summer was a pale-hued 
muslin, in which, on her way to church 
or some rural festivity, she felt very ele- 
gantly dressed, but which didn’t seem quite 
right by the side of Amy’s fine plumage. 

For a moment she wondered if there 
were not some way, even yet, by which she 
might change the programme for to-morrow. 
But the day was too good to be wasted, 
and with the reflection that one tiresome 
day was enough, she drove the whole matter 
from her mind. 

From an upper window Mrs. Croft 
listened to the gay song with which she 
beguiled herself as she weeded the little 
flower bed by the kitchen door, and con- 
cluded that the prospect of spending the 
day with Amy was not so distressing to her 
as had at first appeared. 


40 


CHAPTER III 


T he Croft family had a fancy for eat- 
ing their meals in the open air, and 
were assembled for supper that evening 
in their vast dining-room — a lovely pine 
wood covering several acres. These woods, 
in fact, which were but a stone’s throw 
from the house, had served Thea and her 
brothers for nursery, parlor, and bedrooms 
too, and they had, as birds and butterflies 
are said to take on the colors of their 
favorite haunts, what some one once called 
a 'piny look. Perhaps none of them had 
this piny look quite so distinctly as Thea. 
For her long-lashed eyes had the lucent, 
gray-green tone, the soft depths and flick- 
ering lights of these mystic groves, and her 
hair was dusky with glints of light. She 
41 


DORCASTER DAYS 


had caught the grace of their slowly-swaying 
branches, and those in trouble found in her 
presence a balm without words; for there 
was little of the magpie about Thea. 

She sat in a little niche made by the pro- 
jecting roots of a mammoth pine and held 
a blue and white bowl in her lap. The 
family supper consisted of bread and milk, 
their hardy lives making it seem more 
delicious than the most luxurious fare to 
the jaded appetite of the epicure; and then 
it required no preparation or long, odious 
after-task of dish-washing. 

Near her sat Dave, her oldest brother, 
a young giant with an absurdly gentle 
voice which he had inherited from his 
mother. By his side was a can of milk 
from which, from time to time, he replen- 
ished her bowl or his own. 

Directly opposite this pair sat Fanshawe, 
the second son, at the feet of his mother, 
42 


DORCASTER DAYS 


who occupied the only chair, and near by, 
with his back to a tree, sat the husband 
and father. With his bald crown and sil- 
very beard, he looked like an old patriarch. 
He had a humorous and kindly face, with 
soft, brown, benevolent eyes under bushy 
eyebrows. A radiance of health was about 
him and his appetite equalled that of either 
of his boys. 

Long, pulsing rays were cast by the 
setting sun into the purple gloom of the 
grove, playing around the little circle. The 
evening breeze made harps of the pines; 
chickadees and warblers fluttered about 
in the trees, waiting to descend upon the 
banquet table when the feasters should be 
gone. The tu-la-lee of a thrush floated 
through the aisles of the grove, the rich, 
liquid notes seeming like the mellow, pal- 
pitating evening air made audible. A gray 
squirrel, an old friend of the family, sat 
43 


DORCASTER DAYS 


with his tail-plume over his head in the 
middle of the circle, as a hint that nuts 
were in order. 

Having taken the edge off his appetite, 
Fanshawe looked over at his sister and 
nodded approvingly. 

“That’s a fine pose you’ve taken. I 
wish I had my sketch book along.” 

“I’m glad you haven’t,” said their mother, 
first imitating her son’s approving nod, 
and then her daughter’s pout. “It’s a 
pity if she can’t even eat her supper in 
peace.” 

“Well, she shouldn’t be so sketchable. 
She shouldn’t have such a Romany grace,” 
cried Fanshawe, who had a taste for art 
and had spent the winter working hard in 
an art school in New York. “But me- 
seems our fairy wears a melancholy coun- 
tenance this evening,” he went on in a 
bantering tone, having looked at her more 
44 


DORCASTER DAYS 


closely. “Can it be that the fairy prince 
failed to meet her in the trysting place 
to-day ? ” 

“No, Fan, that’s not the trouble,” an- 
swered Mrs. Croft, who was wont to take 
his nonsense literally. “She has been in- 
vited by Amy to spend the day at Lynwood 
and she doesn’t want to go.” 

“Why not.?” asked her father, reaching 
a long arm toward the basket of bread near 
his wife. “I thought the lass was her 
heart’s dearest. I thought the two were 
inseparable.” 

“That’s long past. Dad,” said the quiet 
but observant Davy, flipping a nut toward 
his squirrelship. 

“Does the fair Amy give herself airs?” 
inquired Fanshawe with interest. “Does 
she try to patronize you ? Ha, she’s a bold 
mortal indeed who insults a fairy.” 

“Is she cock - o ’- the - walk, like her 


45 


DORCASTER DAYS 


brother?” asked Dave, chuckling to him- 
self with the recollection of a droll adven- 
ture he had had with young Randall Carew. 
One sloppy March day while walking be- 
side his team through the village, with his 
head in the clouds, he heard some one cry 
sharply: “Look out, you moony hayseed! 
If you like mud baths, I don't Repar- 
tee was not in Dave’s line. He gave one 
look at the dapper little fellow, so be- 
splashed as to excuse some irritation on his 
part, who was adjusting his eyeglasses and 
looking at him with an insufferably su- 
percilious expression, then, coolly picking 
him up, Dave carried him under his arm, 
as a nurse does a two-year-old, across the 
muddy street and set him down on the 
opposite sidewalk. Still without a word he 
went back to his team while the other, 
followed by the jeers of the bystanders, 
also went on his way. 

46 


DORC ASTER DAYS 


Thea sat silent, playing with her spoon, 
not knowing just how to answer her father. 

“I feel as if, somehow, we were so dif- 
ferent,” she said at last; “as if we were as 
far apart as the poles, and never could 
come anywhere near each other again.” 

“I shouldn’t want to feel that way toward 
any human critter,” he said, slowly shaking 
his head, and her mother also slowly shook 
her head. “Does the fine house and all 
the fal-lals get between you and your old 
playmate, little daughter.^” 

“Maybe they do, father.” 

“And no great wonder either!” cried 
Fanshawe. “Such people as the Carews 
seem half-buried by their things. You 
can’t really get at ’em sometimes. I’ve 
felt as Thea does myself before now.” 

“Then your humanity is weak, boy, but 
I own it’s harder to feel your brotherhood 
to the rich than to the poor. Still it’s our 
47 


DORCASTER DAYS 


fault if we let ourselves be fooled by exter- 
nal evidence — by mere stuff. The differ- 
ence between us, we know, is only on the 
outside. Deep below the showy surface is 
the same old human heart a-beating.” 

“That’s so. Dad’s right,” said Dave, 
refilling Thea’s bowl. But Thea did not 
hear him. 

“Our brotherhood to the rich!” she was 
saying to herself. Somehow this relation- 
ship she had never thought of, yet, of 
course, Amy was her sister in the same 
deep sense that poor Katy Ryan was. The 
bond Dr. Derby had spoken of in the 
library must include all, even those who 
have themselves forgotten or wish to for- 
get it. 

At this moment, as if summoned by her 
thought, the doctor came into the woods. 
He had come to see about a horse, for the 
Croft horses had a reputation and the doc- 
48 


DORCASTER DAYS 


tor needed a good one. He came forward 
with an unusually beaming face, as if en- 
chanted by this gypsying. 

‘‘Oh, don’t rise — don’t rise,” he ex- 
claimed, “or I shall feel that I ought to 
have waited at the stable, and then I should 
have lost this charming sylvan scene.” 

“But now you are here you must cer- 
tainly have supper with us,” said Mrs. 
Croft, whose hospitality was never made 
lukewarm by a consciousness of the irregu- 
larity of their way of life. 

“I don’t often have an invitation to a 
gypsy supper, madam. Of course I’ll stay,” 
he said, sitting down beside Thea. 

While he was being supplied with the 
frugal fare that made up their meal, he 
said to Mr. Croft : — 

“I saw a horse at the stable that just 
took my fancy, — a chestnut mare with a 
most intelligent face.” 

49 


DORCASTER DAYS 


"^Ladylove!'' cried Thea with an implor- 
ing look at her father. 

“That’s the family pet. You’ll be ask- 
ing me to sell you my girl next,” he 
answered. 

“Well, I’d be willing to take her,” the 
doctor said coolly, putting his great arm 
around Thea, and giving her a bear’s hug. 
“I’d make a nurse of her. She has brains 
and a heart, and that’s just what’s needed 
for nursing.” 

“A nurse, shut up in a sick room!” cried 
Fanshawe in disgust, “when any sensible, 
good-hearted old guy would do as well! I 
guess not.” 

“Fan thinks Thea was created for him 
to paint,” said Dave; “but. Doctor, instead 
of nursing the sick, couldn’t she do better 
by showing people how to be w^ell.” 

“There’s something in that,” the doctor 
admitted, holding out his bowl for more 
50 


DORCASTER DAYS 


milk. “This is truly Arcadian, Croft. I 
haven’t eaten bread and milk before for 
years and I had completely forgotten how 
good it tastes.” 

“ I don’t know about its being Arcadian, 
but, anyhow, it’s a good, cleanly, easily-got 
meal. But that last is anything but a 
recommendation to most folks, who think 
the more trouble they take with their food, 
the more chopping and beating and straining 
and frizzling and frying — especially frying — 
IS done to it, the better it is. Of the appetite 
they bring to it and the sort of stomach they 
have to digest it they don’t give a thought.” 

The doctor laughed. 

“I’ve heard, Croft, about some of your 
hobbies. They say you never eat anything 
but mush on Thanksgiving day.” 

“Well, it’s gospel truth. The rest of the 
family have what they want, but I made a 
vow I’d never eat anything but mush on 
51 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Thanksgiving day and I’ve kept it. If you 
want to know why, I’ll tell you.” 

He set his bowl down and made himself 
comfortable, leaning against the trunk of 
the tree. The sunlight flickered on his 
white beard, and a pleasant light shone in 
his eyes. Evidently he was pleased with 
this opportunity to tell the story. 

‘‘To begin with there has always been a 
rover in every family of Croft, and I took 
to the sea. On my last voyage I was 
wrecked and I lived for three years with 
savages on one of the South Sea Islands. 
‘The benighted savages’ some folks call 
’em, and I don’t deny they have some 
mighty unpleasant ways, but they taught 
me a thing or two the civilized races haven’t 
seemed to catch on to. For instance, they 
made me realize what a terrible hard time 
we folks in civilization make of living. 
They were a standing revelation to me of 
52 


DORCASTER DAYS 


what Nature will do for us if we’ll only 
just let her. I hadn’t an idea that such a 
sound state of health and such endurance 
as these savages enjoy are possible. So 
when, at last, I was picked up by a ship 
bound for New York I made up my mind 
that when I got home (for I’d had my fill 
of seafaring) I’d settle down to farming 
and show my neighbors the foolishness of 
wearin’ oneself out in getting things nature 
has no need of. Martha,” here he nodded 
at his wife, “had promised to marry me 
when I should come back from that last 
voyage, and I thought that I’d been away 
so long there would be no sense in waiting 
more’n a week at the outside. But when 
I got home I found her all worn out keep- 
ing house for her father and four hulks of 
boys. Why, the girl had had the life stewed 
out of her in a hot kitchen making rich 
messes for that old man, who ought to have 
53 


DORCASTER DAYS 


known better than to insult his stomach 
with ’em.” 

“Israel,” warned his wife, “you sha’n’t 
say anything against father. He was a 
good, kind man.” 

The story-teller stopped for a moment, 
and swallowed hard, then he said : — 

“So he was, my dear, but anyhow he was 
mighty set on his creature comforts. Well, 
Doctor, it was just before Thanksgiving 
day that I got back to civilization, and all 
the women in Dorcaster were preparing to 
give thanks in the usual fashion — by 
gorging and getting folks’ stomachs out of 
order. The upshot of it is that when our 
wedding day came my girl was flat on her 
back, — a case of nervous prostration that 
kept me out of paradise for a year. That 
was the time I made my vow that I would 
never eat anything but mush on Thanks- 
giving day.” 


54 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“And it tastes good, I dare say,” chuckled 
the doctor. 

“It does. As a general thing I’m not 
hankering for Indian meal mush, but on 
that day, I tell you, it’s like ambrosia to 
me.” 

“Hmm; I suppose your neighbors have 
by now been converted to a more healthy 
way of life,” said the doctor wickedly, strok- 
ing his beard. 

The Dorcaster sage shot him a lightning 
glance. “You know better. They think 
fresh air was made to take cold in, and 
that the only question to ask about an 
article of food is, if it pleases the palate.” 

The doctor rose, for he had long since 
finished his supper and when his errand 
was done he had visits to make. Mr. Croft 
led the way to the stable, the others follow- 
ing with the baskets and cans. 

Mrs. Croft, whose motherly heart had 
55 


DORCASTER DAYS 


been moved within her by the suffering of 
Katy Ryan, took this opportunity to inquire 
for her. 

“We all want to do something for that 
poor child,” she said, “and Thea has been 
wondering if she might go and read to 
her.” 

The doctor’s face broadened into its most 
genial smile. His little homily in the library 
had resulted in a good many such offers, 
but in this case, as in others, he was forced 
to reply that Katy was not yet in a condi- 
tion to receive visitors. 

“However, one thing I’ll tell you,” he 
added, “I’d trust her to Sister Theodora 
sooner than to any other girl in Dorcaster.” 

“My daughter’s name is Dorothea,” her 
mother corrected him. 

“But,” said the doctor in a cool way he 
had, “I call her Sister Theodora after a 
nurse I once knew. A true sister she was 
56 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to the whole human race, though she didn’t 
belong to any order.” 

Thea colored with pleasure and from that 
moment looked eagerly forward to the time 
when she might perhaps comfort a little 
this poor child whose crippled state seemed 
so forlorn in contrast to her own glorious 
health and energy. 

As the doctor got into his buggy, a few 
moments later, he said : — 

“Well, Croft, though I laughed at it, I 
glory in your independence. It’s a refresh- 
ing spectacle to see a man carry out his 
own ideas in the face of the community.” 

“The community, pooh!” cried the sage, 
snapping his fingers. “What should I care 
for the silly talk of silly people.^ I know 
I’m right, for I’ve seen my wife grow from 
a spindling, sickly girl into a fine hearty 
woman, and you can’t match my brood in 
Dorcaster. I tell you I never cared a con- 
57 


DORCASTER DAYS 


tinental what folks said till my baby-girl 
got old enough to be unhappy sometimes 
because her father was called a crank. It 
takes a little rosebud daughter to show a 
man how soft he can be. Not that I shall 
ever give up. I won’t, for I know I’m 
right.” 

“No, don’t give up,” said the doctor, 
gathering up his reins, a little surprised 
at the distress on the patriarchal face. 
“Don’t give up, for the girl is of the right 
sort, and she’ll come out on your side in 
the end.” 


58 


CHAPTER IV 


TT THEN Thea started for Lynwood the 
^ ^ next morning she was almost recon- 
ciled to her fate. The day was so beautiful 
that the eyes were charmed, and the aro- 
matic odors of pine trees and cedars, of 
bayberry, sweet-fern, and other plants, 
whose fainter perfume lent an unrecognized 
sweetness to the summer morning, made it 
a delight just to breathe. And she was 
eager to prove that, after all, the pretty, 
foolish things with which Amy was sur- 
rounded had not really weakened, as she 
had thought, the bond between them. At 
first the sumptuousness of this home, dif- 
ferent from anything to which she was ac- 
customed, oppressed her, but Amy received 
her cordially, enabling her to lapse into a 
59 


DORCASTER DAYS 


comfortable unconsciousness of her elegant 
surroundings. 

On former visits to Lynwood, Amy had 
always taken her into the library, but now, 
as she stopped involuntarily at the door of 
that room, her friend seized her arm, say- 
ing:— 

“Don’t go in! Rand is in there and he’s 
cross as a bear to-day. He has nervous 
prostration, and the doctors say he mustn’t 
enter college this autumn as he expected.” 

As she stood in the doorway Thea caught 
a glimpse of Amy’s brother, sitting with his 
head in his hands, his elbows on the library 
table, staring at the books, on their shelves 
along the wall, that he had been forbidden 
to read. He looked so miserable that 
Thea’s heart had given a great throb of 
pity. His eyes looked hungry like those 
of a starving dog that she once saw staring 
into the window of a meat-shop. She had 
60 


DORCASTER DAYS 


gone into the shop and begged some old 
scraps of meat and fed the dog, and now 
the desire was as strong within her to help 
Rand reach the books he longed for. 

‘‘He’s awfully disappointed, I suppose,” 
she said, as she followed Amy upstairs. 
“I know that he is very clever.” 

“Yes, he’s clever,” his sister assented, 
“and he doesn’t let you forget it. He was 
prepared for college two years ago, but he 
had to wait till he reached the proper age 
before he could enter, and now he has 
reached the proper age he can’t go, after 
all, on account of his health.” 

Amy ended with a giggle that sounded 
unsympathetic; for she and Rand did not 
get on very well together. If she had had 
no more patience with that imaginary kid- 
napped and then i^estored brother, in whose 
reformation after the doctor’s method she 
felt she could effect so much, it is to be 
61 


DORCASTER DAYS 


feared her success would not have been 
very great. But Amy would probably have 
said that it would be easier for her to bear 
with the ignorance of the one than with 
the conceit and superiority of the other; 
and no one, who knew him, could deny 
that Randall Carew was conceited. 

Amy took Thea into her own room, a 
large, sunny one, which, when she last 
saw it, looked like a nursery. In the mean 
time it had been refitted in a way to please 
a young girl’s taste, and as she entered Thea 
gave an exclamation of surprise. 

“Oh, I’d forgotten you hadn’t seen my 
room since it was refurnished. Don’t you 
like it ” asked Amy. 

Of course Thea liked it. What girl does 
not like pretty furniture, dainty toilet arti- 
cles, and window draperies 

“It is a beautiful room,” she answered. 
“My room has been refurnished, too, and 
62 


DORCASTER DAYS 


the next time you come to see me I must 
show it to you. This one looks just like 
you, Amy. Mine is quite different.” 

“And it looks just like you, I suppose,” 
said Amy with her little laugh, privately 
thinking that any room in the Croft house 
would necessarily be very different from 
hers. 

“I think it should look more like Dave 
and Fanshawe,” Thea answered, “for it 
was they who arranged everything, as a 
surprise on my birthday, you know.” 

“Mine was done for my birthday, but 
you may be sure Rand didn’t take any 
interest in it,” Amy said. “But now come 
into the toy room and we’ll choose things 
to send to poor Katy Ryan.” 

“Oh, yes, I should enjoy that of all 
things,” Thea exclaimed, following Amy 
into the smaller room and looking with 
delight at toys of all kinds that were in 
63 


DORCASTER DAYS 


boxes or ranged on shelves around the 
room. 

‘‘We will take turns in choosing,” Amy 
said, “and as you are company you shall 
begin.” 

“Can I choose anything, Amy?” 

“Yes, anything that is here. I don’t 
play with them any more, and mamma will 
be glad to get them out of the house. 
Choose — ” 

“Well, I’m going to choose something 
that isn’t just a toy, — something you 
might use.” Thea spoke with a good deal 
of hesitation. 

“Don’t be so terribly bashful,” her friend 
urged; “go ahead and choose!” 

“I choose that paint box,” cried Thea, 
thus encouraged. “It’s a splendid big one 
with lots of colors, and when Katy can sit 
up I should think she might enjoy coloring 
pictures. She isn’t so old as we are.” 

64 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Here it goes then,” said Amy, who had 
cleared a utility box as a receptacle for the 
presents, and she deposited in it Thea’s 
choice. “I’ve a new paint box, the sort 
that artists use, for Miss Brown is teaching 
me to paint flowers, and I’m sure I don’t 
want this. I’m going to choose this big 
doll. I used to love it when I played with 
dolls. It has lots of clothes, and I believe 
Katy would like it.” 

“I’m sure of that,” Thea assented. “Oh, 
I choose next that box of queer things you 
wind up and set going round the room. 
I remember them just as well, and how we 
used to laugh over them.” 

“So do I,” said her friend, taking the 
box from the shelf and looking in it. 
“Don’t you remember this duck that wad- 
dles off so exactly like Miss Krautler, that 
German governess I had, stopping every 
now and then to quack at me.^^ I haven’t 
65 


DORCASTER DAYS 


thought of these things for years. Let’s 
wind some of them up!” 

Forgetting the dignity befitting their su- 
perior years, the one-time playfellows sat 
down on the fioor and amused themselves 
with the toys. They had been sent to Amy 
from Paris and were very clever. Besides 
being comical in themselves, they had droll 
associations and each one, as it was set 
going, was received with shouts of laughter. 
As the last one stopped, however, Amy 
jumped up, saying in an apologetic way, as 
if she had been greatly bored : — 

‘‘Well, that’s done. We know now they 
are in perfect order. It’s my turn to 
choose.” 

An hour or so was occupied very agree- 
ably in this way and, as the two girls stood 
looking at the collection in the utility box, 
Thea cried with fervor : — 

“How lovely it is to be able to send 
66 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Katy all these things! I think Dr. Derby 
has chosen just the right name for you — 
Lady Bountiful!” 

Amy smiled, for she had been greatly 
pleased by this nickname. 

‘‘When I am really grown up, I shall 
give a great deal of money in charity. I 
shall always be doing something like send- 
ing poor boys to college — the smart ones, 
you know — or sick people to the South — 
poor, sick people, of course — or buying 
cottages for people who have lost their 
homes, so that I shall be looked upon as a 
benefactor in every house in Dorcaster. 
There’s that poor old maid in the village 
who has almost lost her eyesight sewing. 
I would give her enough money to make 
her perfectly comfortable without doing a 
thing and — ” 

“Do you mean Miss Emily Larkum.?” 
cried Thea. “Why, she is as proud as Luci- 
67 


DORCASTER DAYS 


fer, and wouldn’t take a bushel of potatoes 
from her oldest neighbor!” 

“Well, if she is so terribly independent, 
there are plenty that aren’t,” Amy rejoined. 
“Do you believe that poor Jimmy Bowers 
that’s lost his father and mother and has to 
sell papers on the trains wouldn’t like to 
be educated and have a good chance ? ” 

“I think he’d like a good chance, all 
right,” Thea answered guardedly, “and, of 
course, Amy, there are plenty of people 
that would let you help them; and I think 
it would be perfectly lovely to do it. I’d 
like to be a Lady Bountiful myself.” 

“There’s plenty of room for two,” said 
Amy gayly, but Thea objected : — 

“It takes money for that.” 

“Dr. Derby always calls you Sister 
Theodora — he has to have a name, it 
seems, for every one — because you are like 
a nurse he used to know by that name.” 

68 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Amy paused, recalling the fact that the 
doctor had added that this nurse was the 
most beautiful woman he had ever known. 
She had wondered at the time if he really 
meant it, and now she took a long look at 
Dorothea in her country-made best gown, 
and concluded he had been in jest. “You 
might be a nurse,” she went on, “but I 
wouldn’t be one, for sick people are kind 
of disgusting, and a nurse has to do so 
many disagreeable things.” 

Thea shook her head. 

“No, I’m going to stay at home and help 
father on the farm. Neither of the boys 
like farming. Dave is wild to go on ex- 
ploring expeditions. Although he is so 
quiet, he loves adventures. He likes to 
explore places where others have never been, 
to climb steep mountains, and look into 
volcanoes, and Fan is going to be an artist.” 

“I shouldn’t think a girl of much use on 
69 


DORCASTER DAYS 


a farm!” was Amy’s comment, “and there 
are other things you could do better.” 

“Oh, it wouldn’t be a story-book sort of 
life, of course. And I shouldn’t be looked 
upon as a ‘benefactor’ as you would; but 
I know I could make things easier for 
father, and I could do a good many things 
for people between whiles, in a sisterly sort 
of way that would help a little.” 

The two girls went downstairs with their 
arms around each other, quite like old 
times, and Thea was thinking how much 
pleasure she would have missed by refusing 
Amy’s invitation, when two of Amy’s new 
acquaintances arrived. They were the 
daughters of a very rich man who had built 
a fine house a few miles from Lynwood, 
and were strangers to Thea. Apparently 
they wished to remain so, for, after the first 
greeting, they entirely ignored her. She 
hoped they would not stay long, but when 
70 


DORCASTER DAYS 


they were invited to stay to luncheon they 
accepted. 

Thea was seated at table between Randall 
and Honoria, while Annetta sat on the op- 
posite side of the table between Randall and 
Amy. Rand only spoke when he was di- 
rectly spoken to, which, however, was often, 
for there seemed to be no wish to ignore 
him; but the conversation went blithely, 
although on subjects of which Thea knew 
nothing. She, therefore, sat silent, feeling 
very awkward and outside the game. 

These girls had the same air of extra- 
niceness that characterized Amy; as if they 
were particularly fine clay, or porcelain, 
giving her what she called the iron-kettle 
feeling. Their hands were soft and smooth, 
with polished nails, and their blue-veined 
wrists, decorated with bangles, were much 
smaller than her own. She thought them 
very dainty and pretty and would gladly 
71 


DORCASTER DAYS 


have been friendly had they given her a 
chance. 

Perhaps they did not consciously neglect 
her and were rude only from want of 
thought. As for Amy, she was too inter- 
ested in other things to remember her duty 
as hostess. Honoria and Annetta were 
going to camp out in the Adirondacks and 
urged Amy, who knew all the girls of the 
party, to go too, and they talked only of 
these persons and of the trip. 

Amy said that to camp out seemed to 
her to be the j oiliest way to have a vaca- 
tion, but that her mother had never been 
willing to let her go. 

“Mamma is afraid I shall stray off by 
myself and get shot, and she thinks the 
woods are damp and full of snakes and 
poisonous things.” 

“The woods aren’t damp in the Adiron- 
dacks,” said Annetta. “We are going to 
72 


DORCASTER DAYS 


sleep at night in tents. I think it will be 
great,’’ 

For the last minute Rand had been 
looking steadily at Thea. Now he said, 
turning to Honoria : ^ — 

“I see that Amy has forgotten to intro- 
duce you and your sister to our friend here.” 

The four girls informed him, in one 
voice, as it were, of his mistake, but he said 
quite coolly : — 

“Well at all events the ceremony has 
not been properly performed.” Then, with 
great solemnity, and with an emphasis that 
conveyed his meaning quite well, “Let me 
make you acquainted with Amy’s oldest 
friend, Thea Croft.” 

There was an awkward silence after this, 
for it was very evident that he meant it as 
a rebuke for leaving Thea out of the con- 
versation, then Honoria turned to her and 
asked : — 


73 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Did you ever camp out?” 

Thea hesitated for a moment. 

“Not in the Adirondacks,” she finally 
replied, “but on lovely summer nights we 
always sleep out in the woods.” 

“What!” exclaimed three horrified treble 
voices, “you sleep out in the woods!” 

“Yes,” Thea reluctantly admitted, seeing 
that by her own confession she was out of 
it again. 

“Didn’t I understand you to say a mo- 
ment ago that to sleep out of doors was 
great 9’^ said Rand to Annetta. 

“In a tent,” she corrected. 

“Well, I’ve tried both ways, and it’s 
much nicer without the tent,” Thea in- 
sisted. “For then you can see the stars 
twinkling between the pine-tops, and the 
great branches wave over you in such a 
lovely drowsy way, and you seem to belong to 
it all, just as the birds and the squirrels do.” 

74 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“That explains,” said Rand smiling, and 
the cross Rand had a very pleasant smile. 
It quite re-formed his moody face. 

“Explains what.^^” demanded his sister. 

“That balmy look she has,” he answered. 

“Have I a balmy look.^^” asked Thea, 
with a laugh. 

The three girls looked at her, but could 
not see what Rand meant. 

As they rose, at last, from the table, 
Amy proposed golf. Annetta and Honoria 
were famous golfers, but Thea was obliged to 
confess that she had never played the game. 

“I shouldn’t think any one would want 
to play golf in the middle of the day,” 
Rand cried, interrupting Amy, who was 
politely offering to teach Thea to play. 
“I’ll show her the new conservatory in- 
stead.” 

“Oh, I thought you were the young man 
who considered it a bore to tote people 
75 


DORCASTER DAYS 


round the place!” exclaimed Amy, forget- 
ful of her manners at this interference, 
which gave her an odd number of players. 

“I like to do something now and then 
for my kind, if Fm not a Lady Bountiful^ 
Rand retorted, and then, as the three girls 
filed out of the room, he added in a voice 
intended only for Thea’s ear, ‘‘especially 
for such a nice kind.” 

However, as he led her down the hall he 
said, looking longingly toward the library : — 

“You don’t really want to go to the con- 
servatory, do you ? It’s hot there and ’twill 
make your head ache.” 

Thea had never in her life had a head- 
ache, but she did not want to go to the 
conservatory. 

“No, we will go into the library instead, 
and get a book. I’ll read to you out under 
the trees somewhere. That will be cooler 
than the conservatory.” 

76 


DORCASTER DAYS 


She saw an eager light spring into his 
eyes, but he said rudely, “I suppose, 
like all girls, you gabble so that it’s impos- 
sible to understand a word you read ; and, 
of course, you wouldn’t like anything that 
I do.” 

Thea laughed. She was not at all of- 
fended, looking upon Rand as a poor, sick 
boy that should be humored. 

“You shall choose the book yourself,” 
she told him, “and I don’t think I read too 
fast, for I often read to Fanshawe while he 
paints, and he has never complained of it.” 

“What do you read to him?” Rand 
inquired. 

“Oh, different things! Poetry some- 
times.” 

“Faugh. I loathe poetry.” 

As he spoke Rand took down a volume 
from the shelf, and choosing a verse at 
random, read in a mincing fashion i — 

77 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“O Ringlet, O Ringlet, 

She blushed a rosy red 
When, Ringlet, O Ringlet, 

She dipt you from her head ; 

And Ringlet, O Ringlet, 

She gave you me and said : 

‘ Come kiss it, love, and put it by: 

If this can change, why so can I.* 

O fie, you golden nothing, fie; 

You golden lie.’* 

‘‘How sweet! how exquisite! how up- 
lifting! That a full-grown man should 
listen to that spoony, sentimental, lovey- 
dovey stuff surpasses belief!” 

“All poetry isn’t like that,” said Thea, 
flushing, “and even that wouldn’t be so 
awfully silly if you didn’t read it in such a 
silly way.” 

“Glad you like it,” he ejaculated. 

“I didn’t say I liked it.” 

“But you implied as much. You implied 
that it would be good if I had read it in an 
appreciative way. Well, now. I’ll try again.” 

78 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“I sha’n’t listen, I sha’n’t listen, I sha’n’t 
listen!” cried Thea with her hands over her 
ears. 

Rand closed the book with a snap. He 
suddenly realized that what he was doing 
was against the doctor’s orders. 

“Well, if you don’t like that, select some- 
thing that you and your brother do like.” 

Thea shook her head. 

“Now, you are offended. You are of- 
fended because I laughed at one of your 
favorite poems.” 

“If I am offended, it is because you 
laughed at Fanshawe, as if he were ‘spoony’ 
and ‘lovey-dovey’ and sentimental. He 
isn't. He is just as manly as you are.” 

Rand stood still for a moment, looking 
at her. 

“Well,” he said at last, “I see you’ve 
got a temper like the rest of us. But I 
like you for standing up for your brother. 

79 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Come now, you find something that you 
read to him and read it to me. However 
silly it may be, I won’t laugh.” 

“Indeed, I won’t,” she answered, recov- 
ering her good nature. “You choose what 
you want yourself.” 

“I’ve just told you what I want.” 

“We’re wasting all our time wrangling 
this way. Come, get your book. You may 
be sure I’m not going to read poetry to 
2/ow.” 

He sat down by the table, leaning his 
elbows on it just as he had when she had 
passed the door with Amy and had so ex- 
cited her pity! 

“I suppose you have repented of your 
offer to read to me. It is stupid to read 
aloud. I never liked to do it, so I can’t 
blame you.” 

By this time Thea was in despair. “After 
all,” she said to herself, looking at his 
80 


DORCASTER DAYS 


haggard face, ‘‘he is nothing but a poor 
sick boy and it’s foolish to mind what he 
says. I’m going to treat him like a fretful 
baby.” 

She said aloud, in a soothing tone : — 
“We’ll both choose a book. If you really 
want me to. I’ll read you a little thing Fan 
likes, and then I’ll read in your book.” 

This sudden concession astonished Rand 
and perhaps shamed him, for, as he got 
his book, he said : — 

“I hope I wasn’t cross — ” 

“Oh no!” she interposed, but her eyes 
twinkled, and they both laughed. 

“Yes, of course I was cross, but I can 
tell you it makes a fellow irritable to lay 
awake nights as I do lately. Everything 
gets on your nerves, and even when folks are 
trying to do you a kindness, you can’t help 
snapping at them. Do you really think we 
had better go outside, or stay in here ?” 

81 


DORCASTER DAYS 


‘‘Oh, we’ll go outside. I never stay in 
the house if I can get out of doors.” 

“And I never go out of doors if I can 
stay in the house,” said Rand. However, 
he led the way to a cool place on the lawn 
where there were seats and a hammock 
under the trees. 

Thea made him get into the hammock, 
and sat down beside it and opened her book. 

It was a copy of Wordsworth, and she 
turned to the well-known poem called 
Lucy. She wasted no more time but 
began at once: — 


“ Three years she grew in sun and shower. 

Then Nature said, ‘A lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown; 

This child I to myself will take; 

She shall be mine, and I will make 
A lady of my own/ ’’ 

Thea had a very sweet, low voice and 
she read distinctly and well; for the Crofts 
82 



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“She wasted no more time, but began at once.“ 

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DORCASTER DAYS 


spent many winter evenings in reading, 
each member of the family circle taking 
a turn. She was so familiar with this 
poem, having read it often to please Fan- 
shawe, who loved it, that she did it full 
justice. As she finished the last line she 
closed the book and opened Rand’s, intend- 
ing to give him no chance to make comments. 
It was difilcult, however, to circumvent 
Rand if he had any such intention as this, 
and he called out : — 

‘‘Hold on! Hold on! Suppose you 
read again that third verse, — I think it’s 
the third verse.” 

Thea could not refuse, and finding the 
verse indicated, read it through : — 

‘ ‘ She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That, wild with glee, across the lawn 
Or up the mountain springs; 

And hers shall be the breathing balm. 

And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute, insensate things.” 

83 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Ah yes, that’s it,” he murmured, look- 
ing at Thea, and repeating: — 

“And hers shall be the breathing balm, 

And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute, insensate things.” 

“And now that other — ‘And beauty born 
of murmuring sound.’ ” So Thea read: — 

“ The stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her; and she shall lean her ear 
In many a secret place 
Where rivulets dance their wayward round. 

And beauty, born of murmuring sound, 

Shall pass into her face.” 

Whether he was really pleased with 
these exquisite lines, or wished to fix them 
in his mind to ridicule them on some future 
occasion, she could not guess. The truth 
is he thought they might have been written 
to describe Thea herself, and from that 
time forth he called her, in his own mind, 
“Nature’s Lady.” 


84 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Rand’s book was one of Francis Park- 
man’s that he had been reading when he 
had suddenly broken down and study or 
reading forbidden. Thea insisted upon 
beginning where he had left off, and she 
knew by his grunts of approval that he 
was really enjoying himself. She kept on, 
therefore, with much zest, when it sud- 
denly struck her that he was very quiet, 
and looking at him she discovered that he 
was sound asleep. 

This seemed to her the best thing that 
could happen, and she kept very still, 
hoping he would sleep a long time, but 
in a few moments the loud chattering 
of the golf players, who were returning 
to the house, awoke him. He sat up 
in the hammock, and was rubbing his 
eyes in a bewildered way as the girls 
came up. 

‘‘Well, if that’s your idea of entertaining 

85 


DORCASTER DAYS 


a guest,” cried his sister, “you had better 
have let Thea come with us.” 

“Oh, I do believe she has been reading 
poetry to him,” said Honoria, opening the 
volume of poems which Thea had laid on 
a chair. 

“It’s no wonder he went to sleep,” ex- 
claimed Annetta, while all three burst into 
shouts of derisive laughter. 

Thea felt rather silly and ashamed, 
although she had done nothing but try to 
amuse a fellow creature who had seemed 
dull and miserable. Rand, however, showed 
no chagrin and said, addressing Amy: — 

“I’ve no doubt it seems strange to you 
that any girl should give up her own pleas- 
ure to please any one else, but that’s what 
she has been doing. I’m selfish, too, but 
thank Heaven I can appreciate generosity 
in others, instead of considering it some- 
thing to sneer at.” 


86 


DORCASTER DAYS 


The sound of approaching wheels put 
an end to an awkward moment. 

‘‘There’s our carriage,” said Annetta. 
Rand got out of the hammock and 
helped them into the vehicle with rather 
exaggerated politeness. As they drove away, 
Amy said to Thea: — 

“I’ve ordered the automobile. It will 
be cool riding. Will you come, Rand.^” 
“No, I’ll finish my nap if I can. It’s 
mighty queer that I should have fallen 
asleep when for the first time in weeks I 
was enjoying myself awake.” 

Thea enjoyed the ride very much, and 
when at last she was set down at the Croft 
farm she had almost forgotten that any- 
thing unpleasant had occurred. 


87 


CHAPTER V 


K ATY RYAN opened her eyes on the 
lovely summer morning with her usual 
smile; for who could say that the new day 
would not bring her her heart’s desire ? 

That her father had met his fate in the 
burned factory, as she had been told, Katy 
passionately refused to believe; and every 
morning she awakened in the hope that 
before the day was over she would look 
into his face once more. She was, there- 
fore, always on the alert. Every footfall 
in the street, every jar of the house door, 
any excitement in the rooms below, sent 
the blood to her heart with the conviction 
that he had come. Especially in the early 
morning, when the dawn tinged the sky 
with its joyful rose-color, was she confident 
88 


DORCASTER DAYS 


and cheerful. As the day waned, and her 
nerves ached with the long hours of pain, 
hope wavered a little, though this she 
never admitted, and the night with its 
complete disappointment brought a gloom 
that could only be lightened by thoughts 
of the morrow. This feverish longing and 
these repeated disappointments worked 
against her recovery, and yet it was so 
uncertain what might be the effect upon 
her if convinced that her father was dead, 
that one dared not discourage her. 

So, as usual on waking she faced the new 
day bravely. It was going to be fine. The 
sun blazed gloriously into Katy’s room and 
a fresh breeze tempered the June heat. 
For a moment she lay quite still, then 
turned to see if granny was in her bed on 
the opposite side of the room. It was 
empty, and the clatter and noise down- 
stairs assured her that it was late. 


89 


DORCASTER DAYS 


When Katy had been found injured by 
the falling timber about the burning factory, 
she had been carried to Mrs. Hooley, who 
lived in the house next to the one she and 
her father had occupied. The kind-hearted 
Irish woman had done the best she could 
for the child, not grudging the extra work 
she made, but granny thought it hard that 
she must share her room with a sick child. 
She had not the kind tact that made Mrs. 
Hooley such a pleasant companion, but 
was garrulous and a bit peevish, with a 
none too comfortable old age. It was 
granny who had told Katy of the cruel 
chance that she would be a cripple; and 
it was granny who only the night before 
had counselled her to give up all false 
hopes of ever again seeing her father in 
the flesh. 

But that was the night before, when all 
the day-chances were over, and now it 


90 


DORCASTER DAYS 


was morning again. She was looking un- 
usually bright when Mrs. Hooley came up 
with her breakfast. 

“Sure there do be a deal of kindness in 
the worrld,” said this cheerful nurse, setting 
down the tray to put another pillow behind 
Katy’s back. “There’s niver a day whin 
some wan of the village girrls doesn’t come 
to bring ye some token or other. First 
’tis this, an’ thin that, till me shelves do 
be so occupied, I have to set the byes to 
clerrin’ ’em. This mornin’ ’twas, that wan 
came to the door wid this little pat o’ butter, 
wid a clover leaf stamped on’t an’ rale 
clover blossoms set loike a wreath around 
it. Look at it, Katy dear, an’ ’twill give 
ye a foine appetite. ’Twas the choild av 
that ould Croft, him they call a crank. 
Anny how she’s loovely intirely, let the 
ould man be what he may. 

“‘An I’ve brought Katy this pat o’ 

91 


DORCASTER DAYS 


butter/ she says, smilin’ the heart out o’ 
me, ‘which I made wid me own two hands 
fer love av her.’ Yis, ^fer the love av her,'' 
says she. ‘An’ how is she this beyewtiful 
mornin’, Mrs. Hooley.^’ says she. 

“Sure the sun at wanst began to shine 
brighter, bearin’ her approval, a warm 
comfortin’ cup-o’-tay sort o’ feelin’ stole 
over me, an’ I make no doubt, Katy darlin’, 
yer breakfast will taste better thin common.” 

So saying, the good creature settled the 
tray on Katy’s lap, and for a moment stood 
in her favorite attitude with her hands on 
her hips, watching her spread a slice of 
bread with Thea’s butter. The little in- 
valid took a mouthful and nodded. 

“Tastes loike clover too,” said she. 

Mrs. Hooley’s broad face beamed. 

“Well thin, darlin’, it’s good tidings I’ve 
got fur ye this foine mornin’ — ” 

Instantly Katy dropped the bread and 


92 


DORCASTER DAYS 


butter, into her white cheeks flashed a 
burning color, and she leaned forward, 
eagerly crying : — 

“Oh, tell me, tell me quick. Is me 
feyther come ? ” 

“Not that, Katy. Oh, it’s nothing loike 
that at all ! Och, darlin’, don’t cry. Sure 
I wisht I’d bit off the runaway tongue 
av me before iver I spoke,” lamented poor 
Mrs. Hooley. 

Katy did not cry. It was still morning. 
There was plenty of time before nightfall 
for her father to come. But her appetite 
was gone. 

“Go on wid yer breakfast, an’ I’ll tell 
yer what I had in me moind to say,” urged 
her friend and nurse. “Ah, there’s the 
good girrl, take a bite more. Will, thin, 
’tis a foine young leddy that’s cornin’ this 
day ter take ye ridin’. Miss Carew it is. 
An’ Martin, he says she rides in a stylish 
93 


DORCASTER DAYS 


little trap as iver ye saw. Her horse has 
a stump av a tail, av the fash’nable cut — 
loike a whisk broom — an’ she has a long 
whip wid an illegant yaller bow on it that 
sinds him flyin’ along the road like a birrd.” 

‘‘Oh, I don’t want to go with her,” cried 
Katy. 

“Not want to go. Sure ye must be out 
av yer moind — ” 

“Suppose me father should come the 
whilst.” 

“If he comes I’ll kape him fer ye. Niver 
fear!” 

“I — I’d be scart of the young leddy. 
Sure I wouldn’t know what to say to an 
illegant young leddy loike that.” 

“It’s the same wan that sint ye the box 
av prisints. ’Twould be no more’n perlite 
to mention each wan, an’ that would be forty 
or more remarks ye’d be makin’. Thin 
ye know to each wan av yours, she’d make 
94 


DORCASTER DAYS 


a remark in her turn. An’ each remark 
she’d make on your remark would put ye 
in moind av anither remark, an’ each toime 
ye replied ’twould be to set her goin’ again, 
so that bimeby ye’d have to talk to wanst, 
the both av ye, payin’ no attintion to the 
other, or ye’d have no chance to communi- 
cate yer ideas to each other at all. Yis, 
darlin’, that’s the way ’tis, whin two women 
or two girrls git togither. Wid min an’ byes, 
’tis different. They do be a bit slow.” 

Katy was silent a moment as if consider- 
ing the subject, then she slowly shook her 
head. Her experience did not include such 
talking-matches. 

‘‘I don’t wanter go,” she said. 

‘‘It’s fer the sake av yer health thin, 
darlin’. ’Twas the docther himself that 
arranged it wid Miss Carew. An’ sure if 
yer feyther was to see ye so pale an’ peaked, 
’twould make the heart av him sore. Go 


95 


DORCASTER DAYS 


thin, Katy, an’ fer the same raison, eat a 
bite more.” 

“There’s Johnny in the entry,” said 
Katy. “Let him eat my breakfast.” 

Hearing himself mentioned in this agree- 
able connection, Mrs. Hooley’s youngest 
son came into the room. 

“For shame on ye,” cried his mother, 
“iver ready to stuff yerself loike a pig! 
Now go downstairs an’ lave Katy to eat 
her breakfast in peace, fer she’s got a date 
wid a young lady an’ must be ready at 
ileven o’clock.” 

“Martin an’ Tim are out here too,” 
whined Johnny. “They are waitin’ fer 
some av Katy’s breakfast too.” 

Mrs. Hooley closed the door with a 
hasty hand, her person against it precluding 
the possibility of opening it. 

“Don’t want her old breakfast,” cried 
the voice of Martin, the eldest and the 


96 


DORCASTER DAYS 


sauciest of Mrs. Hooley’s spoilt children. 
“I’ve got some flowers that a girl jest left 
here fer Katy. I’ll go down an’ tell her yer 
wouldn’t let me give ’em to her, but told 
me to fro ’em inter the ash barrel.” 

At this the door was immediately opened 
and Martin advanced, his arms full of 
flowers and his eyes flxed plaintively upon 
the breakfast tray. 

“What an illegant dishplay!” cried his 
mother. “Go down an’ bring up all the 
pitchers yer can find, me swate bye, an’ 
we’ll make the room foine. Look at these 
blue wans, Katy! I’ve seen these in the 
auld country. Leastwise they were of a 
different color, but av the same make. 
Flowers do make a place look so dressy. 
I wisht we could raise ’em out in the yard.” 

When the flowers were disposed of, Mrs. 
Hooley gave her attention to Katy’s ward- 
robe. The poor child had nothing fit to 
97 


DORCASTER DAYS 


wear upon sucTi an occasion, but Pleasant 
Corner people had no haughty objections 
to be seen in borrowed plumes. 

Katy’s outfit was collected from three 
houses, and for this reason, perhaps, when, 
punctually at the appointed hour, Amy 
drove up to the Hooley door, Katy was 
not ready. 

The boys rushing up from below began 
to pound excitedly on the door of the in- 
valid’s room, much flustering Mrs. Hooley, 
whose fingers were all thumbs as she tried 
to put the last touches to Katy’s toilet. 

“Hurry up, mother. Hurry,” cried Mar- 
tin. “The young leddy is here waitin’! 
Oh my, isn’t she the dasher though!” 

“Well, you go tell her that Katy’s cornin’ 
at wanst,” said his mother, opening the 
door. “Yer stay an’ talk so she won’t be 
mindin’ the delay. Hold on, an’ let me 
see if yer dacent. Holy Virgin, what a 
98 


DORCASTER DAYS 


head! An’” — with deep disgust — ^‘you’ve 
a crumb on yer chin!^^ 

“Well, d’ye want it?” he asked, cocking 
his saucy head at her and then scampering 
away to escape her avenging hand. 

With the help of the whole Hooley 
family, Katy was placed at last beside 
Amy in the carriage, a crowd of sym- 
pathetic neighbors looking on. An odd 
figure she made, in a red knitted shoul- 
der cape, a purple skirt belonging to 
granny’s palmy days, and the most stylish 
hat to be found in the neighborhood — a 
white chip with a splashing satin bow and 
further adorned by a white ostrich feather 
which sprang up defiantly on one side and 
then drooped over the wearer’s ear, the 
property of a dressy Polish girl, Anna 
Cominsky by name ; but as she raised her 
great velvety eyes to Amy’s — eyes that 
said, “J am your little sister — your little 
99 


DORCASTER DAYS 


sister who suffers — he faithful to me^' Amy 
forgot her astonishing attire. 

Amy was playing Lady Bountiful very 
prettily that day. She was full of pity for 
Katy and ardently wished to give her 
pleasure. She meant to be tactful and 
kind, but her first venture at conversation 
was unfortunate. 

Her fastidious eye was naturally offended 
by Pleasant Corner — the name in this 
instance, as usual, seemed to have been 
given in derision — and the Hooley estab- 
lishment in particular with its undeniably 
untidy air made an unpleasant impression 
upon her. 

‘‘Mrs. Hooley seems like a nice kind 
woman,” she said, “but I should think 
you would rather have gone to the hospital, 
as Dr. Derby wished.” 

In the opinion of Pleasant Cornerites to 
be taken to a hospital stood for the cruelest 
100 


DORCASTER DAYS 


stroke of fate. Katy had heard of persons 
being carried there against their will, and 
she jumped to the conclusion that this 
ride was a ruse of the doctor’s to carry out 
his wish. For a moment she was half para- 
lyzed by fright, then seeing old ^^Gran’fer” 
Quinn sitting on the steps of the grocery 
shop, she called frantically to him for help. 

Much frightened, Amy drew Firefly up 
with a jerk. 

“What’s the matter Are you faint.? 
Have you dropped something out.?” she 
cried. 

“Oh, Gran’fer, Gran’fer, help!” wailed 
Katy. 

But “Gran’fer” was stupid with long 
years of hard work. His jaw fell, and he 
sat still, staring at Katy with no idea as it 
seemed of going to the rescue. 

“Help! Help!” she screamed; and this 
time her voice brought a woman from 
101 


DORCASTER DAYS 


inside the shop, with two boys at her 
heels. 

The woman was a newcomer at Pleasant 
Corner. Katy had never seen her before, but 
she was of her own class and she trusted her. 

“Oh, take me out,” she cried; “this wan 
is takin’ me off to the hospital. Help!” 

“Why, no, I’m not,” asserted the aston- 
ished Amy. “I’m just taking her out for 
a drive. Why, there isn’t any hospital for 
miles and miles.” 

“That’s right. She ain’t likely to ride 
inter Posting. I guess she’ll think yer 
haven’t any manners to act like this,” said 
the woman. 

Katy, however, was already convinced 
of the folly of her behavior, and looked 
shamefacedly at her companion, who, see- 
ing that confidence was restored, touched 
up Firefly and went on. 

This unpleasant incident completely 
102 


DORCASTER DAYS 


spoiled the enjoyment Katy was beginning 
to take in the fresh air and the escape 
from her prison-chamber. For a moment 
neither spoke; then Amy made an effort 
to set the poor little thing at ease. 

The sudden halt had jerked the Polish 
girl’s hat to the back of Katy’s little head, 
which made it look even more rakish than 
before, and Amy took the reins in one hand 
while trying to straighten it with the other. 

‘Tt’s a little too big,” she said graciously. 
‘T think one of my hats would fit you 
better, and I know mamma will let me 
give you one. Which color would you 
like best ? ” 

“Oh, anny color — navvy blue or rid,” 
said Katy. “But sure I don’t want no 
hat whin I pass the time in me bed.” 

This effort at conversation was the last 
that she made for a long time, but when 
Amy was almost in despair the sight of 
103 


DORCASTER DAYS 


a beautiful red bird loosened her tongue 
again. 

‘‘It was a scarlet tanager, I think/’ said 
Amy. 

“Was it? Sure I thought it was a 
birrd.” 

“Of course it’s a bird,” Amy assented, 
repressing a strong impulse to laugh; “but 
the different kinds have different names.” 

“Sparrers is a good kind. There was 
a pair that built a nist in a bush by me 
kitchen door, an’ me feyther — me feyther 
said they was sparrers.” Katy sighed with 
the reminiscence, but finally added: “Wan 
day I looked out an’ there was an ould 
snake lay in’ right acrost the nist. Me 
feyther with a stick flung him off an’ kilt 
him, but the young birrds — the young 
wans, ye know — were gone ; but ’twas the 
mother birrd that had tipped ’em out so 
the snake cudn’t git ’em. Well, I thought 


104 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to do her a kindness by putting thim all 
back in the nist — four av ’em they were. 
Thin, whin me back was turned, she tipped 
’em out ag’in. Four times she tipped ’em 
out an’ the last toime I took the hint.” 

‘‘What did she tip them out for.^^” Amy 
inquired. 

“ ’Fraid of snakes, or cats, or byes. Thin 
what did she do.^ Sure she found four 
little hidin’-places among the weeds in the 
yarrd, wan for each birrd. Me feyther ses 
he, ‘She’s heard the sayin’, “Niver pit all 
yer eggs in the wan basket.” ’Tis a prac- 
tical birrd she is.’ Yis, an’ many’s the 
toime I’ve watched her feed ’em the worrm, 
first this, thin another, aich wan in turn.” 

Katy stopped breathless, and Amy, de- 
lighted to have made her talk, capped the 
story of the “sparrer” with one of a robin, 
and soon good Mrs. Hooley’s prediction 
verified. Amy was thinking that the 
105 


was 


DORCASTER DAYS 


drive was a great success and the doctor 
would be delighted, when suddenly the 
faint color that the breeze had blown into 
Katy’s face died out, leaving it a ghastly 
white, and her eyes, wide flung, gazed in 
horror before her. 

They were passing the site of the burned 
tin factory which she saw now for the first 
time since that fatal night. It had been 
completely swept away — burned to the 
ground, and everything in it had of necessity 
perished. A vision of her father in the 
midst of the flames filled her with horror. 
She swayed and fell against Amy, the world 
whirling faster and faster around her until 
she lost consciousness. 

Terribly frightened, Amy stopped her 
horse and screamed. It was the noon 
hour, when the mill hands were in the 
streets, and her cries attracted the attention 
of a dressy young Pole, who, recognizing 
106 


DORCASTER DAYS 


her own best hat, — the ostrich plume wav- 
ing like a signal of distress, — ran with her 
two companions to Amy’s aid. Anna Co- 
minsky jumped into the carriage and began 
to chafe Katy’s hands. One of her com- 
rades held Firefly, who began to be restive, 
and the other finding nothing better to do 
stood in the middle of the street and in 
voluble and unprintable language, not so 
broken that it could not be understood, 
rated poor Amy for bringing the sick child 
by the scene of the catastrophe. 

When at last Katy was brought back to 
Mrs. Hooley’s door she was sobbing hys- 
terically, declaring she would leave the 
house no more. 


107 


CHAPTER VI 


M y Lady Bountiful was a very crest- 
fallen little person as she drove away 
from Pleasant Corner. She had honestly 
tried to do a kind deed, but instead of 
benefiting Katy the drive had caused her 
much unhappiness and perhaps injured her 
physically. Amy earnestly hoped it would be 
a long time before she saw the doctor, who 
would, she knew, be disappointed and dis- 
gusted; but as it happened he was just leav- 
ing Lynwood when she arrived. He stopped 
to inquire how Katy had enjoyed the drive. 
Amy at once blurted out the whole truth. 
“I drove past the burned factory and she 
fainted away. It upset her a good deal, 
and when I saw her last she was almost in 
hysterics.” 


108 


DORCASTER DAYS 


The doctor bit his tongue. It was a 
trick he had when determined not to let a 
naturally hot temper get the best of him. 

“Sho, that’s bad — bad,” he said at last. 
“You should have had more sense than to 
do that, but perhaps I’m the one to blame 
for not warning you. It certainly didn’t 
occur to me that you would choose that 
street.” 

“I didn’t choose it. I didn’t notice 
where we were going, I was so intent on 
being pleasant to Katy. At first she seemed 
afraid and wouldn’t say a word, so when 
at last I succeeded in making her talk I 
gave her my whole attention. It was Fire- 
fly that chose Queen Street. He thought 
it was the shortest way.” 

Amy flipped her whip on Firefly’s flank, 
reining him sharply in when he started — 
a habit she had, which he must have found 
irritating. 


109 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Well, well, I see you meant all right. 
You have a kind heart, but to help another 
is very ticklish work, and you have to use 
tact if you hope really to do any good. 
Next time you’ll succeed better.” 

“I’ll never try to do anything for any- 
body again,” she whimpered, for she was 
a little upset by this praise after her self- 
reproach, and the blame of Katy’s friends. 
“You would never trust me.” 

“Oh, yes, I’m going to ask you now to 
help me with another patient of mine!” 
he said. “I’ve just been talking with 
Randall and I find him in a very depressed 
state of mind. I want you to try to keep 
him cheerful, and to get him out in the 
open air as much as possible.” 

“Oh, Rand!^' Amy exclaimed. 

The doctor started on with a nod. He 
understood that the task he had set her 
excited no enthusiasm, but he had too good 
110 


DORCASTER DAYS 


an opinion of Amy to believe that she 
would make no effort to accomplish it. 

When Rand had first broken down a 
specialist had been consulted, and it was by 
his advice that the family had removed to 
their country place so much earlier than 
usual; for country life and rest were all that 
he prescribed. Rand, however, had steadily 
grown worse, and the morning that Amy 
had taken Katy to drive his mother in 
despair had called in Dr. Derby. 

The doctor talked a long time with his 
patient, trying to win his confidence; and 
as a result Rand had told him his story 
of broken health and disappointed am- 
bition with much less reserve than usual. 

“The fact is, my boy,” the doctor said, 
“that by this rebellion and fretting you 
are keeping yourself back. No one knows 
better than I how hard it is to reconcile 
oneself to a disappointment like this ; 

111 


DORCASTER DAYS 


for the reason that I had to bear it my- 
self—’’ 

Rand looked at him with an air of inter- 
est, and the doctor went on, seeing that his 
own experience might be a help to the boy. 

“Yes, I was a very ambitious fellow, and 
my friends had done their foolish best to 
make me believe that I was to be a shining 
light in the intellectual world. I worked 
at my books early and late, paying no more 
attention to the laws of the human system 
than if I were an archangel. And what 
was the result ? All at once I broke down 
— went all to pieces, like an old tub in the 
sun.” 

Rand nodded as if he appreciated the 
force of this humble analogy. 

“Well, in one respect I was more fortu- 
nate than you are,” the doctor continued. 
“My people were poor — ” 

“Poor!” Rand repeated. 

112 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Yes, that gave me no chance to mope 
and commiserate myself. I couldn’t see 
my mother and sister work and do nothing 
myself simply because the sort of work I 
liked best was forbidden me. Instead of 
letting them pay a man to take care of the 
garden, it was my plain duty to take care 
of it myself, and nothing could have been 
better for me.” 

“There is no kind of work I so dislike,” 
cried Rand, who anticipated the doctor’s 
advice to go and do likewise. “Gritty hands 
set my teeth on edge.” 

The doctor chuckled. Perhaps he had 
felt as Rand did, when years ago he had 
been forced by poverty to make his mother’s 
garden. 

“It’s good for the health all the same,” 
he said; “but at all events get out of this 
dark hole ” — they were in Rand’s favorite 
haunt, the library — “into the air and sun- 
113 


DORCASTER DAYS 


shine. Horseback riding won’t make your 
hands feel gritty; try that.” 

‘‘I did try it, but the horse I bought is 
an ugly beast — he balks.” 

“Well, they will let you have a good 
one up at the Croft farm. And those 
boys there would make ideal comrades 
for you just now — show you that there 
are things worth living for beside books, 
and help you to find your way back to your 
despised mother Nature.” 

Rand drew himself up stiflSy. “I should 
prefer to limit my intercourse with them 
to a bargain about the horse. That oldest 
one is a confounded boor.” 

“Hmm — it struck me he is ludicrously 
gentle for such a young giant. However, 
tastes differ. You get the horse, and, if 
you don’t fancy them, let the boys slide. 
What you need is some healthful outdoor 
interest, but above everything a cheerful 
114 


DORCASTER DAYS 


mind. Try to reconcile yourself to this break 
in your life. I say, and I ought to know, 
that it has two sides; it isn’t all bad — ” 

“Maybe it isn’t,” Rand grumbled, “but 
for the life of me I can’t see any good in it.” 

The doctor looked at him from beneath 
his bushy eyebrows for a moment, and then 
burst out : — 

“Boy, it will make you human. You 
were growing all in one direction. You 
cared for nothing but your own advance- 
ment in the intellectual line. Now you 
are forced to stop for a while — waste time, 
as it seems to you, sit still and think! Now 
you will begin to develop on another line 
more important than the last. From this 
disappointment and trouble you will learn 
sympathy for others, and the beauty of 
love and kindness at whose hands you must 
accept so much.” 

Rand sighed, but after a moment he held 
115 


DORCASTER DAYS 


out his hand — for the doctor had risen — 
and nodded. 

He wondered if it was because his own 
career had been blocked in this way that the 
doctor had been able to speak about his 
great disappointment without hurting him as 
others did, especially that eminent nerve spe- 
cialist who had given his cruel verdict with 
what seemed to Rand such heartless indiffer- 
ence. No, he never had thought about any- 
thing or anybody but himself and his own 
advancement. To be kind, to have sympathy 
for others in trouble, had been the last attain- 
ments to which he aspired, and even now 
they seemed cheap, common ends compared 
to the ambitions he had long cherished. 

The doctor’s buggy was hardly out of 
sight before he fell to pitying himself again 
and bemoaning his hard fate. He was 
occupied in this way — although he had 
followed the doctor’s advice in so far as 


116 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to leave the darkened room for the piazza — 
when Lady Bountiful returned. 

Amy tossed the reins to Michael, who 
had come round from the stable, and came 
up on the piazza. 

“So the doctor has been here,” she said, 
flinging herself into a chair. “I met him 
going out of the gateway.” 

“1 sent for him to see Rand,” said her 
mother, who had come to the door at the 
sound of wheels. “He doesn’t improve 
as he should, and these country doctors 
sometimes are excellent. I hope, Rand 
dear, you made him understand your 
condition.” 

“Pooh, one doesn’t have to tell him any- 
thing,” Rand replied. “He’s sharp. When 
he raises his eyebrows and looks straight 
at you he bores right down to your most 
hidden secret. He gets clear down to your 
very heart.” 


117 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Well, he said mine was a good kind 
one,” said Amy with her light laugh. 

“Hmm, he ought to live in the house 
with you.” 

“Now, Rand, why do you say such things 
to Amy? She has a good heart. If she 
hadn’t she wouldn’t have gone on the 
errand she did this morning.” Mrs. Carew 
looked at her daughter with a fatuous 
maternal smile, and then added: “She 
must have seemed a dear little angel to 
that child at Pleasant Corner.” 

“Oh, no, she didn’t!” cried Amy, blush- 
ing; and she gave a graphic account of 
her experience. 

suppose you were so taken up with 
yourself in your new role of philanthropist 
that you didn’t know where you were going. 
Deliver me from being patronized by a 
minx!” 

Amy colored violently, for there was a 
118 


DORCASTER DAYS 


grain of truth in Rand’s supposition, and 
flounced into the house. She had thought 
of asking him to go with her that after- 
noon into the woods, in accordance with 
the doctor’s request to keep him out of 
doors, but she said to herself that he was 
too disagreeable. She spent the time in 
her hammock reading a book that inter- 
ested her while Rand ran mole-like into 
the house to pass the long afternoon alone 
and uncomforted. 

After dinner, which was a late repast at 
Lynwood, Rand said that, as he felt sleepy, 
he should go directly to bed. 

“To equalize things, I suppose,” Amy 
commented. “Last night you sat up till 
twelve.” 

“I wasn’t sleepy last night. There’s 
no use going to bed to lie staring awake, 
you chump. Even when I did go to bed 
I couldn’t sleep.” 


119 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“It’s queer, isn’t it, mamma,” said Amy 
giggling, “that a person so clever as Rand 
is can’t do such an easy thing as to sleep ?” 

“I suppose you think you’re funny. I 
wish,” cried Rand, stopping on the thresh- 
old, on his way to his room, to hurl his vin- 
dictive words at her, “I wish you couldn’t 
sleep for a week.” 

“Amy hasn’t the slightest realization of 
what you suffer in this way, Rand dear,” 
said their mother. “She canH sympathize 
with you.” 

“Sympathize with me!” he snorted. “I 
should as soon go to a tadpole for sym- 
pathy. All I ask of her is that she won’t 
dance a hornpipe outside my door as she 
did one night this week, the only night, 
too, that I had got to sleep.” 

Amy promised penitently that she would 
not disturb him again, and Rand went up- 
stairs. It was very quiet in the library 
120 


DORCASTER DAYS 


where Amy sat with her mother, who was 
writing letters. The evening was dull, 
for she had finished her book and no one 
called. Earlier than her customary hour, 
therefore, she bade her mother good-night, 
and called Flossie, her little terrier, who 
slept at the foot of her bed. But Flossie 
had decided objections to house walls on 
beautiful moonlight evenings, and Amy was 
obliged to chase her some time before she 
finally had the truant under her arm. They 
were both in high spirits as she mounted the 
stairs, and when, as they reached the door 
of what Flossie probably considered her 
prison-house, she made a wild dash for 
freedom, Amy gave an excited scream and 
tore after her down the length of the hall 
and the staircase. 

At the foot of the stairs her progress was 
barred by her mother, who at this disturb- 
ance had rushed swiftly from the library. 

121 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Hush, hush,” she whispered. “You’ll 
waken Rand;” and, quite indifferent to the 
fact that Flossie would be left outdoors 
all night, she led Amy back to her room. 
Amy had a glimpse of Flossie watching pro- 
ceedings from the hall doorway, probably en- 
joying the change of programme which made 
her mistress the captive instead of herself. 

Mrs. Carew was distressed and indignant, 
finding no excuse for Amy’s thoughtlessness, 
and now Amy added to her offences by 
laughing, not in indifference, but at her 
mother’s rather ludicrous attempt to scold 
her in whispers. 

When at last, refusing a good-night kiss, 
she left her, Amy did not feel sleepy. She 
missed Flossie, and as she lay there alone 
in the quiet and darkness the events of 
the day passed panorama-like before her. 
Again she was driving with Katy, trying 
to amuse her, to break down her reserve, 
122 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to make her feel at ease, and again she 
saw that horrible pallor on her face and 
the horror in her eyes. She heard again 
the reproaches of the mill girls and Katy’s 
sobs as she left her in Mrs. Hooley’s arms. 
How depressing it all was ! She wondered, 
as she tossed from side to side, if Katy, too, 
was awake and if she were suffering more 
in consequence of the shock she had had. 
When the hall clock struck ten, it seemed 
to Amy she had been in bed for hours ; and 
now, for the first time, she began to think 
about Rand and to wonder if she had wak- 
ened him. By the creaking of his bed- 
stead and a half-suppressed groan she 
knew^ that at all events he was awake now. 

Rand’s room adjoined hers, and presently 
hearing him go to his window with an ex- 
clamation of impatience she got up, and, 
leaning far out of her own window, called 
to him. 


123 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Dormouse, are you awake?” he re- 
sponded, “go back and snooze.” 

“Oh, Rand, did I wake you up?” she 
asked. 

“You did your best, but I haven’t been 
to sleep yet.” 

“Neither have I, it’s so hot and horrid 
to-night. Wouldn’t it be nice to sleep out 
of doors as the Crofts do?” 

“It would be nice to sleep anywhere^^ 
said poor Rand. 

Lynwood in the moonlight was more 
beautiful than ever. Its sheen made the 
lawn like a silver sea upon which the groups 
of shrubbery and trees seemed to float like 
islands. The occasional whinny of some 
wild animal alone broke the peaceful silence. 

“What’s that, I wonder?” said Rand, 
listening. 

“Thea would know; you had better ask 
her. And that reminds me, Rand, let’s 
124 


DORCASTER DAYS 


go to walk to-morrow. I haven’t been to 
the Croft woods for ages, and I don’t want 
to go alone.” 

To Amy’s surprise he agreed, and having 
appeased her conscience in this way, she 
went back to bed and was soon asleep. 


125 


CHAPTER VII 


“ ^T^HE doctor advised me to take a long 
walk late in the day as a cure for 
sleeplessness,’’ said Rand, as he set out 
the next afternoon with Amy for the Croft 
woods. ‘Tt’s a weary business, but here 
goes,” 

It had been a phenomenally hot day for 
the month of June. The fierce sunshine 
seemed to wilt even the roadside weeds, 
and no breeze stirred. This trying atmos- 
phere, in his present weakness and after 
many nights without sleep, had so worn 
upon Rand that he could hardly drag one 
foot after the other. 

However, the woods when they reached 
them were cool and pleasant and so lovely 
that Amy went on and on, always seeing a 
126 


DORCASTER DAYS 


still more beautiful spot beyond. At last 
Rand came to a dead stop. 

‘‘I’m not going another step,” he de- 
clared. “There’s such a thing as getting 
too tired to sleep.” 

“Oh, just come on a little farther,” Amy 
urged. “It’s lovely yonder beyond the 
pool. But what is that object by those big 
trees ? See, it moves.” 

“Where?” asked Rand adjusting his 
glasses. 

“Why it’s Thea. What is she doing? 
Look! look!” 

For a moment they stood motionless 
behind a screen of young evergreens, watch- 
ing a charming woodland comedy. 

Thea stood under the pines, calling to 
the squirrels who came leaping from the 
trees. With a confidence born of a long 
intimacy they climbed to her shoulder, one 
bold fellow even higher in his eagerness to 
127 


DORCASTER DAYS 


get the nut, held at arm’s length above her 
head. Dressed in neutral colors her figure 
did not sharply disengage itself from the 
surrounding grayness, but her sweet, up- 
lifted face, her round arm bare to the elbow, 
gleamed pearly white upon the misty shadow 
tone of the grove. 

Having at last possessed themselves of 
all Thea’s nuts, the gray-coats frisked 
away, and, the sport ended, Thea flung 
herself upon the ground. As they walked 
on Rand quoted : — 


“Then Nature said a lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown. 

The child I to myself will take. 

She shall be mine and I will make 
A lady of my own.” 

“Spouting poetry, — and about a girl!'' 
cried Amy in a teasing voice. “I’ll tell 
Thea what a silly you are.” 

128 


DORCASTER DAYS 


This threat was immediately carried out ; 
but if Amy thought that he would be cha- 
grined she was disappointed. The grouty 
Rand actually stooped to flattery. 

“You and the squirrels made a picture, 
I can tell you,” he said to Thea. “If I 
were a painter I should want no prettier 
subject.” 

“Fanshawe painted me once with a 
squirrel, but I was sitting in the house by 
a window and he soon threw it aside as a 
failure. Somehow he never paints me with- 
out pines around. Once he began a sketch 
in which I was leaning against a stile, but 
the stile turned into a pine trunk. And 
another time I was sitting on a bench in 
a garden, but after a while I disappeared, 
and a beautiful young lady with a rose in 
her hair took my place. Fan said I ran 
off into the woods.” 

“I dare say,” said Amy, “for I never 
129 


DORCASTER DAYS 


saw any one quite so fond of the woods as 
you are. I wonder what you do in them 
all by yourself all day.” 

“Feeds the squirrels and makes balsamic 
couches for weary wayfarers to rest on.” 

As he spoke Rand dropped down on a 
great heap of pine needles that had been 
gathered together near by. There were 
other heaps beyond, toward which he waved 
his hand as a proof of his assertion. 

“What are they for, Thea?” Amy curi- 
ously inquired. 

“The boys and I fill our mattresses with 
them,” she answered. “When it’s too cold, 
or it rains so we have to take to the house, 
we like to sleep on the pine needles. It’s 
next best to being outdoors, and the pine 
needles, you know, are said to make you 
sleep.” 

“Do they cried Rand, sitting up. “I 
wonder if they do. I really began to feel 
130 


DORCASTER DAYS 


sleepy while lying on ’em. I’ve a mind to 
try ’em.” 

‘‘And I, too,” said Amy; “it’s so terrible 
to lie awake nights.” 

“Poor, haggard victim of insomnia!” 
Rand exclaimed. “She once lay awake 
half an hour. By all means, let us each 
have a pine bed.” 

Amy said she would have the mattresses 
made as soon as possible, and then they 
would come and fill them ; but Thea offered 
her a couple of the sacks which her mother 
kept on hand for this purpose, so the trial 
might be made that very night. While 
Rand rested the two girls went to the farm- 
house to fetch them. 

Fortunately when half there they met 
Davy with a load of hay. Returning 
from the meadow, he had picked up Fan- 
shawe by the way, who was trudging 
home with his sketching paraphernalia 
131 


DORCASTER DAYS 


and who now lazily reposed on the top of 
the load. 

Hearing what was going on the boys 
offered their services in filling the sacks, 
promising to make a picnic of the affair, 
and as soon as the hay was unloaded, they 
joined the others in the pine wood. 

This big Dave had an unusually sym- 
pathetic nature. One in trouble, let him 
be his bitterest enemy, received the tenderest 
consideration at his hands. He managed 
in this case to show his sympathy with such 
tact as to make Rand forget the episode of 
last March in which he had considered 
himself so grievously insulted. Seeing that 
he was very tired by his long walk, he left 
the filling of the sacks to Fanshawe and 
the girls, saving Rand’s pride by sharing 
his idleness. 

When the work was done, he proposed 
taking the sacks to Lynwood on the hay 
132 


DORCASTER DAYS 


cart, letting Rand sample his bed on the 
way, lying in state like a princess in a fairy 
tale, — a plan Rand gladly availed himself 
of, having groaned in spirit every time he 
thought of the long walk home. 

By now the sun was going down and the 
sound of a horn broke the quiet of the 
woods. It was the Crofts’ supper hour. 
On the edge of the woods two figures ap- 
peared: the Dorcaster sage with a can of 
milk, and his wife carrying a basket. 

“Here comes supper,” said Dave, while 
Fanshawe ran forward to relieve his mother 
of her load. 

“I had no idea it was so late,” cried Rand. 
“Amy and I had better start on. We can 
send a man up for the beds.” 

The warmth of the Croft hospitality, 
however, overcame his reluctance, and the 
young Carews sat down with the rest. 
The supper consisted of the same simple 
133 


DORCASTER DAYS 


fare as on the foregoing occasion, with 
the addition of some huckleberries. Their 
wild aromatic flavor pleased Rand, who 
was in his best mood, inclined to be pleased 
with everything. Whether or no his pam- 
pered palate really relished this plain diet, 
he ate with unusual heartiness. Amy, 
however, disliked milk, which she always 
refused at home on account of its ‘‘barny” 
flavor, and she played with her spoon in a 
way that distressed Thea, caused Rand to 
send her disapproving glances, and Anally 
attracting the attention of Mrs. Croft, some 
lady’s-flngers were sent for, which she ate 
with her berries. 

Rand seized this opportunity to consult 
Mr. Croft about a horse. 

“What’s the trouble with the one I saw you 
riding the other day Mr. Croft inquired. 

Rand explained, whereupon his host 
declared : — 


134 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Why, you can break him of balking 
with very little trouble. I once had what 
was called a very obstinate case of that sort 
to deal with. The horse was sold to me 
for a song as being wholly unfit for use on 
account of this habit. Well, the first time 
I used him I drove him to the wood lot for 
a load of wood. He went there all right, 
but when my wagon was loaded and I was 
ready to go home he refused to move. So 
I pottered about awhile, pretending I wasn’t 
really quite ready to start, and then tried 
him again. No use! He wouldn’t budge 
an inch, and he looked ugly. He probably 
thought that, as usual, he would be beaten, 
for that is the way nine men out of ten 
try to manage a horse. Instead of that 
I tied him to a tree and went home. This 
was early in the afternoon and I left him 
there until supper time, when I tried him 
again with the same result. So I gave 
135 


DORCASTER DAYS 


him his supper, covered him with a blanket, 
and there he stayed all night, hitched to 
the load of wood and tied to a tree. In the 
morning he didn’t need a second invitation 
to move on, and I never had any more 
trouble with him. I would advise you to 
experiment awhile with that horse of yours 
before you buy another.” 

This plan interested Rand, who took the 
advice that was given him. By kindness 
and tact he finally succeeded in breaking 
the horse of his bad trick, and in the process 
boy and horse learned to understand and 
love each other. 

The sun had long set when the hay cart, 
so bedecked with green as to look like a 
locomoting bower, arrived at Lynwood. 


136 


CHAPTER VIII 


W HETHER or no it was the effect of 
the pine-needle bed, or owing to a 
day spent partly in the open air, or because 
of his simple supper or the unusual cheer- 
fulness of his mind, or all these reasons 
together, Rand slept well that night. 

A few days later he and Amy drove over 
to the Croft farm to look at Fanshawe’s 
sketches. Neither of them knew anything 
about art, nor could appreciate the fine 
quality of the work they saw, but Rand 
fancied his sketches of the pine woods with 
their cool, limpid, amethyst-colored shadow- 
tones, shot with golden lights, and there was 
much jesting over an order he gave the artist 
for one in which Thea feeding the squirrels 
should make the foreground. Afterwards 
137 


DORCASTER DAYS 


they became more serious and confidential. 
Fanshawe spoke of the long road that lay be- 
fore him and the necessity he was under of 
stopping now and then to earn money to 
carry him along. Dave told of his own 
ambitions, long set aside in order to give 
his father the help he needed on the farm. 
Rand could but see that his own case was 
only one of many, and the cheerful philoso- 
phy with which the Croft boys bore their 
disappointments made him thoughtful. 

Meantime Thea took Amy to the house 
to show her the changes which had been 
made in her own room since she had seen it, 
and which Thea thought, notwithstanding 
the daintier furnishings of Amy’s, the pret- 
tier of the two. 

Amy was greatly interested in plans for 
a fair for the benefit of Katy Ryan, which 
as they walked on she unfolded to her 
companion. Thea objected that there had 
138 


DORCASTER DAYS 


already been two fairs that year in Dor- 
caster. 

“Not like the one I am thinking of,” 
Amy rejoined. “It’s to be in a large tent 
on our lawn, with small tents or booths 
around it for gypsy fortune telling, sil- 
houettes, and all sorts of things of that kind. 
I was wondering if you could not give a 
side show with Ladylove. I’m sure it’s 
worth twenty-five cents any time to see 
her tricks.” 

“But nearly every one has seen them,” 
Thea again objected. “However, I sup- 
pose I could teach her some new ones. For 
instance, she could pass around a hat, and 
people can put in it what they think the 
show is worth.” 

“What they think it’s worth!” repeated 
Amy disdainfully. “That isn’t the way 
they do things at a fair. They always 
squeeze the most out of people they can.” 
139 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Then it shouldn’t be called a 
Amy waved the question aside as of little 
importance, and urged Thea to begin at 
once to teach Ladylove the new tricks; for 
the fair, she said, must come off before cold 
weather, by October at the very latest. 

They talked over their plans until they 
reached Thea’s room, when Amy had a 
sensation; for the truth is, it was a unique 
and decidedly attractive apartment. 

The furniture was not new or fine : a small 
iron bedstead, an old-fashioned bureau, a 
few chairs, washstand, and a large round 
table in the middle of the room on which 
were scattered books, writing materials, paint 
box, workbasket and the like, for there 
was no money in the Croft family to spend 
on bookcases and desks. Love and inge- 
nuity, however, had made good this lack, 
and Thea’s brothers had contrived to make 
her a nest so charming as to draw from 
140 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Amy an exclamation of astonishment and 
delight. 

First Fanshawe had painted the walls a 
soft, pearly gray, designing at the top a 
border of rich colors. It was not a set 
pattern, but was of great variety, and the 
lower edge was more or less broken by ir- 
regular depending forms, until — the colors 
here becoming softer and more delicate — 
over the bed it occupied nearly the upper 
half of the wall space in a design suggestive 
of sweeping wings. With a decoration like 
this, shelves of bric-a-brac and pictures 
were better dispensed with, and the few 
Thea had — an antique mirror, an un- 
framed sketch of her father, an old sil- 
houette and her grandmother’s sampler — 
were grouped together over the bureau. 
And now we come to the chief feature of 
the room, that which gave it its distinctive 
charm. This was the arrangement of one 
141 


DORCASTER DAYS 


of the windows, of which Dave had made 
such a nook as — it’s safe to say — had not 
its counterpart in the country. There was 
a broad seat or narrow platform under 
this window, upon which, when there was 
mending or studying to be done, Thea sat 
with her materials around her, for here she 
could look from time to time into the dusky 
tops of a little group of pine trees, ten or 
a dozen perhaps, that grew close to the 
west wall of the farmhouse. The seat 
had another use, however, for it also served 
as a step to the window ledge, from which, 
by a narrow-railed bridge, she could pass 
into a bower securely lodged between the 
tree branches. Perhaps it was more like 
a great nest than a bower, for, though 
strongly, it was roughly built, somewhat cup- 
shaped and with mossy bark on the outside. 
The pine foliage made a waving canopy 
over it in which the pine warblers, grown 
142 


DORCASTER DAYS 


accustomed to this strange tree-freak, trilled 
sweetly. 

The two other windows in Thea’s room 
gave it plenty of light and sunshine, and 
the music and the cool shade of the pine 
trees on warm days were soothing and 
pleasant. In storms they lent a wilder 
charm. The moonlight shining through 
them was weirdly beautiful, casting fan- 
tastic shadows on the large wall space 
opposite Thea’s bed; but the effect in the 
room was most magical at sunset, when, 
as now, a mellow light sifted through them 
and flickered on the pearl-gray walls. 

As Amy entered a little tree-friend — a 
squirrel — sat eating a nut on the window 
ledge, helping himself from a basket of 
hickories placed there for his convenience. 
Outside the window were large wicker 
cages without doors, refreshment stations 
for the birds, and the room was full of the 


143 


DORCASTER DAYS 


dee-dee-deeing of a company of thirsty 
chickadees. 

“I have a great many visitors,” Thea 
said. “It’s as if we exchanged calls; for 
there are other nests beside mine in the 
trees. Last summer a dear vireo got so 
tame that she would eat a strawberry which 
I held out to her on the end of a hat pin, 
while she sat on the nest, and once — oh, 
that was a red-letter day — a scarlet tanager 
flew right into the room.” 

When Amy had passed back and forth 
on the bridge to the tree-bower two or 
three times, and had seen everything in 
the room, she hailed Rand who, with Fan- 
shawe, had left the old barn studio and was 
walking toward the house; for she was not 
unwilling to have him see how much trouble 
Thea’s brothers had taken for her. 

The squirrel and the chickadees were 
gone, but a south breeze had sprung up, 
144 


DORCASTER DAYS 


filling the room with the wild music of a 
rude seolean harp. Rand, like Amy, was 
impressed by the charm and beauty Dave 
and Fanshawe had given to this farmhouse 
room, but it apparently excited no spirit of 
emulation in him, for when Amy declared 
that if there were only pines close by the 
house at Lynwood she too would have a 
bridge and a bower and an seolean harp in 
her window he answered scofl&ngly : — 

“These things wouldn’t suit you, and 
they wouldn’t harmonize with your fine- 
lady gimcracks. The birds would know 
that you would want their plumage for 
your hat, and the squirrels would skip at 
the sight of you, guessing that you have 
squirrel-skins to line your cloaks.” 

“And I suppose, of course, the wind 
would make no music on my seolean harp,” 
cried she, with an airy laugh that was meant 
to hide her anger and mortification. 

145 


CHAPTER IX 


O NE day when Dave and Thea were 
walking past Lynwood they saw Rand 
in the orchard, spraying pear trees. He 
was feeling much better than when he saw 
Dr. Derby, and, having found good such 
of his advice as he had followed, he had 
wisely concluded to take all his remedies. 
So at last he had turned to agriculture, giv- 
ing his particular attention to fruit as being 
what he called the least grimy part of farm- 
ing. The way he worked showed the energy 
of his nature, and for a moment or more the 
two watched him with amused interest. 

“Rand will do something in the world, 
even if he has to give up his chosen pursuit,” 
said Dave. “ See how thoroughly in earnest 
he is in doing this work which he hates.” 
146 


DORCASTER DAYS 


As an actual fact there was a positive 
violence in the way Rand was working, 
every now and then stopping to jerk off a 
blighted or decayed pear. One of these 
he flung from him with disgusted and an- 
gry force in the direction of the bystanders, 
and had Thea not ducked her head she 
would have received it full in the face. 

Aware, by her startled exclamation, that 
some one was on the other side of the wall, 
Rand jumped down from the ladder and 
ran toward them. 

‘‘Oh, I beg your pardon!” he cried, see- 
ing her. “If I had known that any one 
was here I should have been more careful.” 

“It served me right for spying,” laughed 
Thea, “but the vim with which you ‘farm’ 
is so entertaining.” 

“Yes, with all that zeal you will be a 
great success as a farmer,” added Dave, 
grinning. 


147 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Oh, you may laugh! I don’t know 
anything about farming and I don’t want 
to,” cried Rand. “It’s the most filthy, 
grovelling, grubbing, back-breaking, and 
mind-degrading occupation ever followed 
by man.” 

“If you know all that about it, I should 
think you knew a good deal,” commented 
Thea. 

Rand went on aggrievedly, without notic- 
ing her remark : — 

“And I think a man’s life should hold 
something more than digging and potter- 
ing about in the dirt, or running around 
with nasty messes for the destruction of 
bugs — so-called pests — that we pester 
continually.” 

“You do make a good case out of it,” 
said Dave. “I reckon you’re tired.” 

Rand nodded. 

“I’ve set out three hundred strawberry 
148 


DORCASTER DAYS 


plants this morning. They were adver- 
tised as ‘ever-bearing strawberries,’ but 
they will probably turn out to be never- 
bearing strawberries. Next I shall get 
some of those raspberry-blackberry vines, 
said to combine the good qualities of each, 
so at table you can serve those who prefer 
the first and those who prefer the last out 
of the same dish.” 

“ Perhaps they combine the bad qualities 
of both,” suggested Dave, unkindly. 

“True, but I want to encourage this sort 
of thing. Agriculture is sadly in need of 
being simplified. I think now there should 
be a composite fruit tree. First it might 
be hybridized with a banyan so that each 
branch would go looping off on its own 
account, forming a distinct orchard, each 
one of course bearing a different kind of 
fruit, so that one could walk from one 
arcade to the other, gathering respectively 
149 


DORCASTER DAYS 


pears, peaches, plums, apples, and so on, 
all of which should ripen every month in 
the year. Another move in the right direc- 
tion would be a combination vegetable. 
How tiresome to have to cultivate one sort 
for root and another for fruit! What ‘we 
farmers’ want is a variety that forms, say 
potatoes underground and tomatoes on the 
plant.” 

“And while we are about it,” added 
Dave, “we might have a composite sort of 
creature ; for instance, a cow that lays eggs, 
or a hen that gives milk.” 

“Perhaps you think this is wit,” cried 
Thea. “I’m going on, that is if Amy is 
at home. I want her to come and see 
Ladylove’s new tricks.” 

“She is at home, but Cora Redmond 
has just come — ” 

“Oh, well, then I’ll not go!” said Thea, 
who knew by experience that under these 
150 


DORCASTER DAYS 


circumstances Amy would not spend much 
time at the Croft farm. 

‘‘Won’t I do as well?” asked Rand. 
“I’m beastly tired of working, and I’m a 
good enough spectator for a rehearsal.” 

“I suppose I’ll have to make you do, but 
you are far from an encouraging person. 
And then you are always scoffing at the 
idea of our fair.” 

“Don’t you think Katy Ryan is a very 
unsatisfactory object of charity?” Rand 
asked. “The whole town is bent on doing 
agreeable things for her, and as far as I 
can find out she doesn’t care a straw for 
any of them.” 

Rand being tired followed the others on 
horseback, and whether he approved of the 
fair or not he enthusiastically applauded 
Ladylove’s performance. 

Although Amy’s time was otherwise em- 
ployed, Rand, in those days, came often 
151 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to the farm. Always sure of a welcome, he 
was yet never pestered if by chance he 
preferred to stay away. A master hand at 
grumbling, he grumbled continually in his 
quizzical way without giving offence, with- 
out apparently wearying them. In his 
bitter moods they bore with him, and com- 
forted him if they could.^ He had his 
faults, and grave ones, yet his was not a 
small nature. If he blamed those who by 
the stimulation of his boyish vanity had 
encouraged him in his reckless waste of 
health and nervous energy, he allowed no 
sign of this to escape him. He seemed 
to blame only himself and his selfish ab- 
sorption in his own advancement, and his 
physical suffering he bore bravely. 

They liked him. Perhaps, had it not 
been for his great disappointment and his 
bodily weakness, he would not have ap- 
pealed to them in any way. If, for instance, 
152 


DORCASTER DAYS 


they had met him in the full tide of health, 
confident of himself, conceited, regardless 
of everything but his own intellectual prog- 
ress, they would not have cared for him, 
but now the pity of his wasted talent and 
this physical wreck in his eighteenth year 
touched their sympathies. 

Turning from the forbidden realm of 
books, they tried to lead him to Nature with 
her simple health-giving interests and her 
beauty and balm. At first they had little 
success, but as the weeks passed he grum- 
bled less. 

Long hours spent under the trees leave us 
with a new wisdom. The patience and 
repose of nature at last impressed them- 
selves upon him, and he began to lose his 
aching egotism. 


153 


CHAPTER X 


I F the sight of the ruins of the old mill 
had resulted in Katy’s giving up her 
father as forever lost to her, thereby 
ending the strain of hope ever deferred, 
it would not have proved so regrettable, 
but in a short time her expectation of 
his return was as eager as before; only 
now the sanguine day was followed by 
terrible dreams at night when she saw 
him wrapped in flames or struggling in the 
heart of the fire. 

In her present weak condition there was 
no question of another drive. The kind 
attempts of the Dorcaster girls to give her 
pleasure utterly failed. To all inquiries 
as to what she would like she made but 
one answer : — 


154 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“ I wants me feyther. I wants me f eyther 
again.” 

When the dog days set in a smothering 
sultry air settled over Pleasant Corner and 
a slow fever burned in Katy’s veins. 

Whenever she was mentioned Dr. Derby 
looked gloomy and admitted that she grew 
weaker every day. 

There was much sickness that year in 
the village and surrounding country which 
kept him busy. He was never called to 
the Crofts, however, but he often stopped 
to talk to the Dorcaster sage, which he 
said rested him almost as much as a night’s 
sleep. 

One day when he was returning from 
his visits to patients living in the direction 
of the Croft farm, his horse suddenly shied 
at something in the road. With a glance 
at this something, he drew rein and got 
out of his buggy. 


155 


DORCASTER DAYS 


A man lay by the side of the road, ap- 
parently dead. At first the doctor sus- 
pected foul play. Upon closer examination, 
however, he discovered that he had been 
hit by an engine; for the spot where he 
lay was but a stone’s throw from the rail- 
road. His face, gashed and bruised, cov- 
ered with blood, was unrecognizable, but he 
was presumedly a tramp and most likely 
he had been walking, half drunk, upon the 
track. 

The doctor found that he was not yet 
dead but life was fast ebbing away, and 
what was to be done for him was to be 
done at once. He needed in this work 
another pair of hands, and he was thankful 
to see a vehicle rapidly approaching. It 
proved to be the smart trap of Amy Carew, 
whom he hailed with scant ceremony : — 
Come here. I need help. Make haste, 
child!” 


156 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Amy looked at the wounded man, and 
turned pale. 

In truth he made a ghastly sight, with 
his gashes, his filthy clothing, and lying in 
a pool of blood. 

“All you have to do is to hold his head 
steady,” said the doctor coolly. “ Be quick ! ” 

Amy had got out of the carriage and 
now, with trembling limbs, came forward. 

“Oh-h!” she gasped, looking again at 
the injured man. “Oh-h!” 

“Yes, I know it’s a tough sight,” said 
the doctor, who was getting his bandages 
ready, “but it’s a case of life and death, 
and there’s no one but you to help me.” 

“Oh, it makes me — it makes me faint 

“Don’t think of yourself! Now get down 
and hold his head together — so.” 

The doctor showed her what she was to 
do, but with a sudden rush of repulsion 
she backed away, crying, “Oh, I can’t — 
157 


DORCASTER DAYS 


I canH! I’ll go and send some one to help 
you;” and in spite of all his commands or 
entreaties she jumped into the carriage, 
driving off in the direction of the Croft 
farm. 

Thinking that his only chance of help 
was lost, the doctor turned once more to 
his patient and was about to attempt his 
task unaided, when Thea, who had been 
blackberry ing in a field near by, pushed 
through the roadside bushes. 

‘‘Come here!” said the doctor a second 
time. “I need help.” 

Thea obeyed, and looked at the wounded 
man, as Amy had. She, too, turned pale. 

Paying no attention to the horror in her 
face, he gave his directions. 

Thea hesitated. She felt sick and longed 
to run away, but, instead of doing so, 
dropped down by the man’s side, holding 
his head as she had been told. Her habit 


158 


DORCASTER DAYS 


of doing without question whatever was to 
be done helped her. 

“That’s right, so so,” said the doctor 
reassuringly. “Steady, steady now and 
we’ll have him fixed up in no time. That’s 
right. You’re doing finely, finely.” 

Thea, however, no longer needed her 
courage quickened. The moment she 
touched the man all sense of disgust, of re- 
pulsion, passed away. All the warm friend- 
liness of her nature, all her humanity re- 
vived. This was a fellow being in distress, 
and she could no more have refused to help 
him than if he had been Davy or Fanshawe. 

“Sister Theodora, you’re a trump!” he 
said to her as he deftly finished the opera- 
tion. “Now we have him in good shape, 
the next thing is to have him taken care of. 
We must get a stretcher and some men to 
help move him.” 

“Father and Dave are getting in the 
159 


DORCASTER DAYS 


meadow hay. They can carry him on the 
hay cart,” said Thea, thinking of the gay 
occasion on which, in a bower of green, 
they had carried Rand home. 

As, a few moments later, the poor crea- 
ture was placed where the boy had lain, she 
felt the contrast even more keenly. 

“Where shall we take him ? ” asked Dave, 
as he gathered up the reins. 

There was a pause. Then Thea’s father 
said : — 

“My house is the nearest, take him 
there.” 

Before they started Amy returned. She 
had brought Mrs. Croft to give the doctor 
the aid she herself had been unable to give 
him. Now, finding her services not re- 
quired, they hastened back to the house to 
get a bed ready and all preparations made 
for the reception of this unexpected guest. 
The hay cart slowly followed, Dave driving 
160 


DORCASTER DAYS 


carefully and his father walking beside it, 
and the rear of this mournful cavalcade 
was made by the buggy in which rode the 
doctor and Thea. 

While the others were occupied in caring 
for the wounded man upstairs, Amy and 
Thea, who had hurriedly changed her 
clothing, sat on the kitchen porch talking 
in low tones; for the groans of the sufferer, 
who was again under the doctor’s hands, 
came distinctly to their ears from the win- 
dows above. 

‘T wonder who he is,” said Amy. “He 
couldn’t have been a beauty at his best, I 
should think, but now his nearest and 
dearest couldn’t recognize him.” She shud- 
dered, recalling the ghastly face that had 
so unnerved her. 

“They think he is a tramp. It doesn’t 
seem as if tramps have any ‘nearest and 
dearest.’ ” 


161 


DORCASTER DAYS 


‘‘Well, if he has, they ought to be grateful 
to you, for the doctor couldn’t have saved 
him alone — ” said Amy. 

“Why, he would have managed some- 
how, of course,” Thea interposed; but Amy 
went on in the same strain : — 

“Oh, what a tremendous thing to save 
a man’s life! If I had done it, or even as 
much toward it as you have done, I should 
feel — oh, I don’t know how I should 
feel. I wonder why I couldn’t have helped 
the doctor,” she went on wistfully. “I 
wanted to. I felt sorry for the poor man, 
and yet — and yet I ran away. I must 
be what Rand calls me — a 

“I don’t know just what he means by 
it, but if it’s anything horrid I know you 
aren’t one,” cried Thea, putting her arm 
around Amy’s waist and thinking that she 
was wonderfully winning in this new, wist- 
ful mood. 


162 


DORCASTER DAYS 


‘‘He means a very shallow, vain, and 
selfish girl. It may not be the dictionary 
definition, but Rand has left me no doubt 
as to that. And it may be that I really 
am a minx, in his sense of the word, 
otherwise why wouldn’t I have done what 
you did ? ” 

“There must be some other explanation,” 
Thea asserted. “I have it, ’tis because 
you are so dainty and refined. You are 
not accustomed to such work — ” 

“How many dirty tramps have you found 
by the wayside and ministered to?” inter- 
rupted Amy. 

“But I’m accustomed to doing any coarse 
job that comes along. Look now at those 
lovely white hands of yours, ” — Thea went 
on placing Amy’s delicate hand beside her 
own, — “they show that they never come 
in contact with anything that’s soiled and 
coarse, while mine — Do you remember 


163 


DORCASTER DAYS 


how disgusted you were the day you found 
me cleaning Ladylove’s stall?” 

Amy looked thoughtfully for a moment 
at the two hands side by side on Thea’s 
lap. She could not help seeing that her 
own was very pretty, white, and delicate. 
In her opinion it looked more like a lady’s 
hand than the other. 

“It seems,” she said at last, jesting, 
“that if you are to be helpful in the world 
you must not be too clean. It makes you 
shrink from your dirty fellow creatures.” 

Her self-condemnation was genuine, but 
as soon as she got home, Cora, the cousin, 
changed the tenor of her thoughts. 

It was not until Cora’s visit was over 
that she saw Thea again. 


164 


CHAPTER XI 


T he injured man at the Crofts’ was 
unconscious for a long time, during 
which he was cared for as well as if he 
had been a son of the house. With her 
gentle ways and physical strength Mrs. 
Croft was a perfect nurse, and it was for 
this reason, that made her so useful in her 
own family, that she was suddenly sum- 
moned to her sister’s home where there were 
three sick persons instead of one. The sister 
lived some distance from Dorcaster. 

“You can go as well as not,” her husband 
assured her. “ I reckon Anna needs you a 
good deal more than we do, for we can 
take care of ourselves, and between the 
three of us we can take care of our sick 
friend.” 


165 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Mrs. Croft therefore departed. Several 
weeks before this Fanshawe had accepted 
the offer of a class in drawing at Lake 
George, so the father, Dave and Thea set- 
tled down to double tasks. 

Both Mr. Croft and Dave had a talent 
for nursing, and whenever they were away 
Thea could do all that was necessary. In 
fact, as he grew somewhat more conscious 
of what went on around him, the invalid 
showed a marked preference for his youngest 
nurse. 

Things then were going on pretty 
smoothly, when, one morning, Dave fell 
from the hayloft and incapacitated him- 
self from service. His ankle was severely 
sprained, and notwithstanding his disposi- 
tion to make light of it — in fact he kept 
himself back by continually trying to use 
it — he was obliged to give up. The whole 
burden now fell upon two pairs of shoulders ; 

166 


DORCASTER DAYS 


but the sickness of her sister’s family prov- 
ing to be scarlet fever, Mrs. Croft dared 
not come home and risk carrying the con- 
tagion to her own child, and they would not 
send for Fanshawe, whose position was far 
too good to be given up. 

The days passed slowly. Mr. Croft 
took all he could upon himself. He hired 
a woman to watch every other night and 
induced a neighbor to help now and then 
with the farm work, but he was anxious 
for Thea, and Davy, who had nothing to 
do but to count the steps she took and 
watch the color fading out of her cheeks, 
was getting intractable. 

One warm afternoon Thea came out of 
the house for a breath of fresh air, while 
her father took her place in the sick room. 
How good it seemed after the pent atmos- 
phere she had breathed so long! 

She made straight for the pines, sniffing 

167 


DORCASTER DAYS 


the good, balsamic odor as if for the first 
time, and called the squirrels round her. 
She had forgotten to put nuts in her pocket 
and they soon left her, scolding violently, 
and walking on, much humbled, she met 
Rand. 

He had not been to the farm for some 
days, having fancied himself in the way 
while so much sick-nursing was going on. 
Rand did not approve of the tramp being 
domiciled at the Crofts’. It was likely to 
wear them all out and they no longer seemed 
to have time or sympathy for their friends. 
On the occasion of his last visit he had 
made remarks of this nature, and he had left 
in high dudgeon. This was before Dave’s 
accident. He had come now with a message 
from Amy, he explained, as if nothing 
would have induced him to come on his 
own account. 

‘Tt’s about that fool fair,” he said. 

168 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“She told me to tell you that it’s to come 
off in a couple of weeks and she wants you 
to bring Ladylove over to have her get 
used to the new place where the performance 
is to be.” 

Rand rather hoped that Thea would 
resent Amy’s neglect of her since the arrival 
of Cora, and refuse to go; but Thea’s mind 
all this time had been occupied with less 
petty thoughts, and she answered readily 
that she would come. Hardly were the 
words spoken, however, than she remem- 
bered that she was not free to leave her 
own home, and that she must give up all 
part in the fair. 

“Amy has another fool idea,” her brother 
went on. “She and Cora are getting up an 
operetta to be given the same evening after 
the fair, which it seems is to be an after- 
noon fandango. She says it’s to be great 
fun — her idea of fun seems to be to make 


169 


DORCASTER DAYS 


a fool of oneself for the benefit of a crowd 
of spectators — and she thinks you’re good 
enough to sing in the chorus.” 

“Well, she knows very well that I’ve no 
voice,” said Thea, laughing. 

“It wouldn’t make any difference if you 
sang like Patti,” he assured her, “she would 
have to be leading lady herself. I’ve 
done all I can to persuade her that she’ll 
turn the whole thing into a farce if she 
attempts to sing alone, for she hasn’t 
voice enough to be heard three feet off, 
while she has all the airs and grimaces of 
a prima donna.” 

“I don’t think it’s kind of you to say 
such things about her,” cried Thea, who had 
often been vexed by his disparagement of 
Amy. “If Dave or Fanshawe should speak 
of me as you do of your sister it would break 
my heart.” 

“Well, maybe you have a heart to break. 
170 


DORCASTER DAYS 


I can’t say as to that, but I know she hasn’t. 
She is a conceited minx,” he persisted. 

Thea stopped short and gave him a look 
that he remembered longer than he liked. 
There was a bewildered surprise in her face 
more expressive than words. 

“I think you are a very disloyal brother,” 
she said and walked on. 

The pleasant relation that had so long 
existed between these two seemed suddenly 
with these cold words to come to an end. 
For there was no anger in Thea’s manner, 
and her assertion seemed to Rand, who in 
spite of his caustic speeches to others did 
not enjoy them when addressed to himself, 
to be a final estimate of his character, which 
fell far below her standard for persons de- 
serving of her friendship. He was piqued 
and hurt, yet he knew, after all, that she 
was right. He was disloyal to Amy. And 
he knew that neither Dave nor Fanshawe, 
171 


DORCASTER DAYS 


let her offence against them be what it 
might, would ever breathe a word against 
Thea to others. That Amy was irritating 
and shallow was no excuse, the brotherly 
instinct should prevent him from speaking 
of her defects to other persons, or perhaps 
even from owning them to himself. Per- 
haps, since he considered himself superior, 
Thea thought he should help Amy instead 
of laughing at her efforts to improve herself, 
and, if her tastes were for foolish, superficial 
things, interest her in something better. 
That warm interest of Thea’s in Fanshawe’s 
work, her sympathy with Dave’s ambitions, 
that seemed to him so sisterly and pleas- 
ant, might be partly accounted for by 
Fanshawe’s patient explanation of the prin- 
ciples of his art, and Dave’s confidences 
on the subject of exploring expeditions. 

Rand walked on in silence, crunching 
the pine cones with fierce footsteps and look- 
172 


DORCASTER DAYS 


ing furtively at Thea, whose sober face he 
accused of contempt, not guessing that she 
was repenting of her hard word. 

Disloyal! what manly boy can endure 
such an accusation. But she had given 
his conduct its right name and opened his 
eyes to his own meanness. Well, he would 
swallow his pride and show her that he was 
not so small as to resent her rebuke. 

‘‘At any rate,” he said, breaking the 
distressing silence, ^'you are not a disloyal 
friend. I shall tell Amy so.” 

“ Oh no, only tell her that I shall have to 
give up doing anything for the fair. I’m 
sorry but it can’t be helped. Tell her that 
mother is still away, Fanshawe also, and 
Dave has sprained his ankle, so that father 
and I have everything to do.” 

Rand expressed his feelings by a pro- 
longed whistle. Then he exclaimed: — 

“Well, if you don’t have luck! If I’d 
173 


DORCASTER DAYS 


known anything was the matter with Davy, 
I should have come up long ago to offer my 
sympathy at least.” 

Thea nodded. “I know you would, I’ll 
tell him so when I get home. It must be 
near milking time and I shall have to turn 
back now.” 

“See here,” cried Rand, who was now 
heartily ashamed of the petty feeling that 
had kept him away from his friends in 
their trouble, “I wonder if I couldn’t milk 
for your father to-night. He must be worn 
out with all he has to do.” 

The idea of Rand on a stool by the side 
of a cow, adjusting his glasses preparatory 
to the job he spoke of, upset Thea’s gravity 
completely. He could not help laughing 
too, and this good laugh cleared the at- 
mosphere. 

“If I can’t milk the cows, at least I can 
sit sometimes with that sick duffer,” Rand 
174 


DORCASTER DAYS 


persisted, when Thea had regained her 
composure; “I really want to do something 
to help you.” 

“Then come and cheer Davy. We have 
no time to attend to him, and he just sits 
by himself and frets.” 

“Of course I’ll come, and glad of the 
chance to do anything for old Dave,” he 
answered heartily. “I’m sure he’s done 
a lot for me. In fact, I owe you all more 
than I can say. When shall I come ? ” 

“You might come at once,” Thea an- 
swered. “He’s sure to be dull now on 
the edge of the evening, when father and 
I are busy, and it’s getting too dark to read.” 

Rand was very successful in his task of 
cheering Dave, first by his good company, 
and secondly by his promise to send a man 
from Lynwood morning and night to do 
the chores Dave could do no longer. 

As he started home, pleased with the 
175 


DORCASTER DAYS 


novel sensation of doing something for 
others, he looked back at the house and 
saw Thea sitting by the window of an up- 
stairs room, most likely the one in which 
the sick man lay. Her head was bent, 
and her attitude seemed to show a weari- 
ness and dejection that made her look 
unlike herself. 

“Probably she is all worn out taking 
care of that miserable tramp who never 
was and never will be any good to any- 
body,” he grumbled to himself. “I don’t 
doubt she’s crying because she can’t have 
a hand in that ridiculous fair and opera 
business.” 


176 


CHAPTER XII 


AND had come close upon the truth 
in his conjecture of Thea’s feeling as 
she sat with her head in her hands by the 
window. In the first place, to one so ac- 
customed to living in the open air this 
close confinement was a misery in itself. 
In the beginning her sympathy, her love 
of service, and the excitement had kept 
her up, but now there seemed to be no 
ending to her task. Day followed day 
without any apparent improvement in the 
sick man’s condition. He lay in a deep 
stupor most of the time, speechless, thank- 
less, a most uninteresting spectacle. 

It was only natural that, as she took her 
father’s place by his side that afternoon, 
she should think of the pleasures she must 
177 


DORCASTER DAYS 


forego. Aside from all the fun, which in 
truth she really needed after her long con- 
finement, there was the thought that one 
was working for the benefit of Katy. That 
she had been able to do nothing or almost 
nothing for her in comparison with what 
others had done had sorely distressed Thea, 
and this plan of Amy’s was such a jolly 
way of helping one ! Ladylove’s new tricks, 
too, were so pretty and clever as to be well 
worth the twenty-five cents that it had been 
decided must be paid to see them, and if 
any one beside herself should attempt to 
show them off Ladylove would be contrary. 
And how delightful it would be to take 
part in the operetta — even to sing in the 
chorus — for everything at Lynwood was 
planned in fine style. All the Dorcaster 
school children were to sing, there was to 
be a real stage with stage scenery and 
pretty costumes, an orchestra, and a dance 
178 


DORCASTER DAYS 


at the end. While this was going on she 
would be here in the sick room, or her hands 
filled with tiresome household tasks ! These 
were the thoughts in Thea’s mind when, 
looking back, Rand had caught that un- 
suspected glimpse of her. 

However, her nature was too healthy 
to indulge long in the sickly mood of self- 
pity. Besides, a sick room appeals to one’s 
wider sympathies. Before Thea had dried 
her eyes there were little services to be done 
for her charge, and when again she took 
her place at the window her mood had 
changed. After all, this poor injured tramp 
needed her help far more than pretty, 
pathetic Katy in whom every one was 
interested. The more unattractive — yes, 
even repulsive — he was, the more pitiable 
was his case, and she would not give him 
unwilling care. The very fact that Rand 
had pointed out as a reason for turning 
179 


DORCASTER DAYS 


him off — that he was of no value to him- 
self or the world, that he was friendless — 
was one reason more that she should be- 
friend him; and now, all at once, a great 
tenderness and pity for him made him 
seem quite different. He was no longer 
repulsive to her, only a poor, hurt creature, 
to whom her heart went out. She turned 
to see if there was not something to be 
done to make him comfortable, and found 
his eyes were open and fixed questioningly 
upon her. 

“Where am I.?” he asked. 

“At the Croft farm,” Thea answered, 
going to his side. “We found you lying 
by the roadside. You had been hurt, and 
my father had you brought here to be 
taken care of. You’re better now, aren’t 
you.?^” 

“Yes — worse luck!” he said, turning 
his face to the wall. 


180 


DORCASTER DAYS 


While he lay still and, she hoped, sleep- 
ing, Thea watched him in great excitement. 
Now that he had come out of that terrible 
stupor she thought he would get well, and 
she hoped that, before he awoke and asked 
more questions, her father, who would 
know what to say to him, would come 
back. 

But he was not asleep and presently 
spoke again. 

‘‘I’m afraid you oughtn’t to talk,” Thea 
said to him. “Father will know. Do 
wait till he comes!” 

He looked at her a moment and then 
said slowly and feebly : — 

“I’d ruther talk to you than to him; 
I’ve a little wan of me own.” 

“We’ll write to her and tell her you are 
safe here and getting well. Don’t worry 
about her! You’ll be well and see her 
before long.” 


181 


DORCASTER DAYS 


He turned his face on the pillow, groaned 
and then said : — 

“No, I ain’t iver goin’ ter see her agin — 
niver. I’m goin’ ter lave her as the hist 
I can do fer her. If ’twasn’t fer me fool 
notion ter come back an’ have wan more 
look at her swate face, I wudn’t be lyin’ 
here smashed up by a — engine. Now 
I’ll lave fer good an’ all.” 

“I think it would be very cruel,” said 
Thea. 

At the word he shrank down in the bed 
and began to tremble. 

“Is it crool ye say.^ ’Twas me croolty 
to her that sint me off. ’Twas the day I 
struck her wid the ugly big fist of me that 
I made up me moind to go. ’Twas drink 
made me strike me swate Katy — ” 

“Katy! is her name Katy.^^” Thea, torn 
by varied emotions, managed to articulate. 

He had gasped out his words in painful 
182 


DORCASTER DAYS 


jerks, and now lay back as if the exertion 
of talking had been too much for him. 
For a moment Thea watched him with 
wide, eager eyes, then she saw that he had 
fallen back into unconsciousness. 

Could it be, she wondered, that this man 
whom they had cared for so long was Katy 
Ryan’s father Was the poor tramp, sup- 
posed to be friendless and of no value to 
any one, the beloved for whom that pathetic 
child was grieving herself to death Oh, 
it was too good to be true! 

Yet there are hundreds of Katys in the 
world, and as time wore on Thea grew 
less and less confident; for this was the 
last word the invalid spoke for several days. 


183 


CHAPTER XIII 


FTER that talk with Thea in the 



^ ^ woods Rand spent much of his time 
at the Croft farm making himself of use 
in every way he could, but in a short time 
Dave was about again. 

One afternoon he walked home meditat- 
ing upon the warm tie between Dave and 
Thea which had been expressed in his 
presence in many charming ways, and 
which made him realize how strange and 
unnatural his attitude toward Amy must 
seem to them. 

And it really was ugly and unnatural, 
he owned to himself. If all brothers and 
sisters are not so harmonious as the Crofts, 
at least very few, fortunately, are so antag- 
onistic to each other as Amy and himself. 


184 


DORCASTER DAYS 


A short time ago he would not have 
given the matter a moment’s thought, but 
Rand was growing. His nature was broad- 
ening. In his long hours of leisure he had 
thought a great deal. He had become, 
as the doctor had prophesied, more human, 
and he had begun to realize what he and 
Amy were missing, the especial sweetness 
of a relationship which makes its strong 
roots in the morning of life or not at all. 

Suppose he should set about righting 
the matter now, before it was too late. 
The trouble, he confessed to himself, was 
chiefly in himself. His sympathies were 
too narrow, and he saw that he must begin 
by interesting himself in the things she 
cared for. 

He could think of nothing, however, but 
to help her with this ‘‘fool fair,” this 
“ ridiculous pincushion and tidy selling 
business.” 


185 


DORCASTER DAYS 


But no, he told himself scornfully, he 
couldn’t simulate an interest in anything 
so silly. If people wished to give money 
to Katy Ryan, why couldn’t they do so 
without all this fuss, without getting knit 
truck in return ? 

Reaching home, Rand was met by the 
news that his grandmother Goldthwaite had 
been suddenly taken ill, and his mother 
summoned to her home in Penfield. 

Miss Brown, Amy’s governess, was away 
on her vacation, and Mrs. Carew was dis- 
tressed at the necessity of leaving Rand 
and Amy by themselves. She had had a 
long talk with the latter, and she had left 
word with the servant to send Rand to her 
the moment he came home. 

He found her hastily packing the last 
things in her trunk. Her eyes were red 
with weeping and she looked so wretched 
that he longed to comfort her. 

186 


DORC ASTER DAYS 


‘‘Grandmother may not be so ill as you 
think,’’ he said, putting his arms around 
her. “Let us hope for the best, mother.” 

Mrs. Carew returned his caress and 
looked at him thoughtfully. 

“You are a dear son,” she said. “You 
are always good to your mother, though 
you are so unkind sometimes to your 
sister. I wish, Rand, I did not have to 
leave you and Amy alone together — ” 

“Oh, that’s all right, don’t worry about 
us, mother,” he interrupted; but he could 
not meet her eyes, for he saw that she was 
thinking of the last time she had left home, 
when he had so angered Amy that she 
would not stay in the house with him, tak- 
ing refuge with a friend in the next town. 

“Not worry! how can I help it.^ Why, 
no one knows how anxious I am when I 
leave you only for a day.” 

As he looked into her troubled face Rand 


187 


DORCASTER DAYS 


realized as never before what a strain this 
constant watchfulness, this effort to keep 
the peace between Amy and himself, must 
be on her. For her reassurance he con- 
quered the reserve that would otherwise 
have prevented him from speaking of the 
resolution he had just made. 

“I promise you that there will be no 
trouble this time. In fact, mother dear, 
I had already made up my mind to break 
myself of my habit of vexing her. I mean 
to do the fraternal thing now.” 

“Oh, Rand, if you only would!” said 
the poor mother, “you don’t know how 
much happier I should be.” 

“Then be happier,” he said laughing, 
“for I have given my word that I will not 
quarrel with Amy while you are gone.” 

Rand was repaid for the effort he had 
made to speak unreservedly by the un- 
doubted comfort it gave her, and the 
188 


DORCASTER DAYS 


recollection of this accounted for a some- 
what exaggerated consideration of his sister’s 
pleasure during the following days. 

In less than an hour he helped his mother 
into the carriage, and he and Amy watched 
her drive away. She had given him a 
significant look from the carriage window, 
^ which he understood as a reminder of his 
promise, but her last words were to Amy : — 

“Look after Rand’s cold, and if it is 
worse to-morrow send for the doctor.” 

“It doesn’t seem to be much of a cold,” 
said Amy, as they closed the door and went 
back into the library. 

Rand laughed. 

“I didn’t know before that I had one, 
but maybe I have a little. I believe mother 
lives more in us than in herself, she seems 
to know so much about us. I suspect, 
Amy, with our perpetual squabbling we 
are a terrible trial to her.” 


189 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Amy made no reply. She had been a 
good deal upset by the news of her grand- 
mother’s illness and the tears were still in 
her eyes. 

‘‘Why don’t you read your new book? 
It will take up your mind, you know,” 
Rand proposed in his new role of consid- 
erate brother. 

“Oh, I shall have to practise,” Amy 
answered, and wiping her eyes she went 
into the music room, whence presently issued 
one of the tinkling airs of the operetta. 
Presumably she was singing, but of that 
one in the next room couldn’t be sure. 

When they met again at the dinner table 
Rand said : — 

“You aren’t going on with that operetta 
performance now, are you ? ” 

Amy nodded. 

“I shouldn’t think you would feel like it.” 

“My feeling shouldn’t make any differ- 
190 


DORCASTER DAYS 


ence,” said Amy, virtuously. ‘‘All the other 
girls would be disappointed, and — 

“I should think it would outrage your 
nice sense of the proprieties,” he began 
again; but, seeing the expression of Amy’s 
face, he remembered his promise and for- 
bore to urge the question. For his own 
part he had a boy’s indifference to the 
conventionalities . 

“Mamma would have said so if she 
wished me to give it up,” his sister went 
on, moving in her chair a little uneasily. 
“She never mentioned the matter.” 

“She may have forgotten it in the hurry 
of getting off, and with so much on her 
mind,” Rand reminded her. 

“I suppose you think this is a fine op- 
portunity of making yourself disagreeable,” 
she said, throwing him an angry glance 
across the table. 

“Not at all!” he answered with a wave 


191 


DORCASTER DAYS 


of the hand. “On the contrary, I find it 
an occasion for being useful, for I prophesy 
that with mother and Miss Brown both 
away you’ll have your hands full. By the 
way, why do you have your operetta on 
the same day as the fair.^^” 

“It isn’t on the same day, for it’s to be 
in the evening,” was all the explanation 
Amy vouchsafed. 

“Well, if I can help in any way, I am 
at your service,” said Rand. 

Nothing could have shown more con- 
vincingly how indifferent she considered 
him to her plans and interests than the 
tone in whish she exclaimed : — 

^^Youl You help me, Rand!” 

“Yes, I! You never appreciated my 
musical gift, but I suppose I could act as 
usher, or supe, or in some such humble 
capacity.” 

“Oh no, of course you couldn’t sing. 

192 


DORCASTER DAYS 


There isn’t time now to learn a part, and 
then you flat so you would put everybody 
out—” 

^^You won’t put anybody out,” he inter- 
rupted with a grin. 

Fortunately she put a more flattering 
significance to his remark than Rand in- 
tended, and went on amiably : — 

“But there is something I would be 
thankful to have you do. A good many 
of the village people, so Miss Price told me, 
are coming to the fair just to see the grounds 
here. They will wish to see the conserva- 
tories, the hanging gardens, the peacock 
house, Belgian hares and the rest, and 
there must be some one to show them 
about. You could do that if you chose, 
but you will have to dress decently and not 
go about with your hands in your pockets.” 

“Dress decently!” he repeated rather 
gloomily. “I suppose so, that’s always 
193 


DORCASTER DAYS 


the next thing. Perhaps you’d like to 
have me get myself up as Cupid, fairy, or 
some freak, as that sort of thing seems to 
be the order of the day. I don’t know 
why it is,” he added, relapsing into his 
old manner, “but girls never can do any- 
thing without fussing about their clothes.” 

“Well, pray don’t scold,” said Amy tes- 
tily. “You needn’t have anything to do 
with the fair if you don’t want to.” 

“ Oh, I do — I do,” cried Rand, recol- 
lecting himself. ‘ ‘ There is nothing my heart 
is so set on as helping you out with your 
fair.” 

For a moment she looked perplexedly 
at him and then said : — 

“I suppose you will be laughing in your 
sleeve at everything, but no matter, it will 
be so much off my hands.” And so the 
matter was settled. 


194 


CHAPTER XIV 


^"T^HE day of the fair was exceedingly 
raw and disagreeable, unsuited to an 
outdoor fete. 

“You oughtn’t to do that fancy costume 
business in this air,” said Rand to his 
sister as he took his place at the breakfast 
table. “A thick sweater is the thing for 
to-day.” 

The previous evening there had been a 
final rehearsal of the operetta. The young 
people, warm and excited, had opened 
doors and windows, filling the house with 
draughts, and Rand’s cold was decidedly 
worse. It was so bad, in fact, that he 
would have stayed in bed had it not been 
for his promise to help Amy during the 
fair. 


195 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Why didn’t you take some quinine last 
night ? ” she asked, looking at him uneasily. 

His reply, which seemed to be a scornful 
disquisition on the folly of dosing, was 
interrupted by a fit of hard coughing. 

“Are you veiy depressed?” was Amy’s 
next inquiry. 

“Depressed!” he repeated. “I don’t 
know that I am; why?” 

“Then you haven’t grip, for they say 
one is dreadfully depressed with grip. It’s 
a mere cold, and I shouldn’t think fresh 
air would do you any harm.” 

“It’s not a mere-cold — it’s a more- 
cold,” he corrected; but knowing what 
was in Amy’s mind he went on good-na- 
turedly, “but at all events there is nothing 
better for it than personally conducting 
parties over the grounds for the benefit 
of the Katy Ryan fair.” 

For a long moment Amy was silent, 
196 


DORCASTER DAYS 


looking preternaturally sober; then she 
said in a faint voice : — 

“I suppose if your cold is really worse 
I ought to send for the doctor.” 

Knowing that if this were done it would 
put an end to his plan of helping her, Rand 
vigorously opposed it and Amy gave a 
sigh of relief, seeming to feel herself free 
from further responsibility. 

There was little breakfast eaten that 
morning, for Rand had no appetite, and 
Amy was too pressed for time. People 
were constantly arriving with baskets of 
articles for the sale, and she soon dropped 
her knife and fork and went out to the 
fair grounds. 

The main tent covered the tennis court. 
It had already been decorated by evergreen 
trees and garlands, but the articles to be 
sold were now to be set out attractively on 
the tables, and the finishing touches were 
197 


DORCASTER DAYS 


to be put to the booths outside. The gypsy 
fortune teller wanted some one to help her 
hang up her bright colored blankets. The 
light in the silhouette cutter’s booth wasn’t 
quite right. The popcorn girl couldn’t 
arrange her strings of pink and white corn 
without help. A dozen pair of extra hands 
were needed, and Rand’s one pair were by 
no means to be spared. 

Every hour he felt worse, more unable to 
drag himself about. He hoped Amy would 
see the risk he was running and release 
him from his promise; but Amy had other 
interests than Rand’s cold just then. By 
eleven o’clock people began to arrive and, 
as she had prophesied, every one wished to 
see the far-famed attractions of Lynwood. 
For several hours Rand piloted little parties 
over the grounds, standing about in the 
raw wind and, which was worse, under- 
going the changes of temperature between 
198 


DORCASTER DAYS 


the atmosphere outside and the heat of 
the conservatories. Nothing, however, was 
more characteristic of him than persever- 
ance in a task he had undertaken, and it 
was never his way to make much of his 
physical ailments. Besides, Amy had found 
a use for every man on the place. There 
really seemed to be no one else to act as 
guide, and it would not do to let people 
loose over the place, as it were, free to 
break branches from the rare trees and 
shrubs or from the plants in the hothouses, 
as some of them seemed inclined to do. 

Several of the women — good motherly 
souls, knowing Mrs. Carew was away — 
were troubled by his exposure to the raw 
weather, and advised boneset tea and onion 
syrup for his cough. Miss Pray said that 
she had, in one of her notebooks, a remedy 
that was said to be excellent for grip, 
which she would copy and send to him, 
199 


DORCASTER DAYS 


but nothing happened to relieve him of 
his task. 

Luckily the fair was over at five o’clock 
in order to give those who were to appear 
in the operetta time to make preparations. 
Then he betook himself to his own room, 
from which he did not have to emerge 
again that evening. 

Notwithstanding the bad weather the 
fair was a great success, but not much 
could be said in praise of the operetta. In 
the first place the preparations had been 
hurried, and the person who had taken the 
place of Miss Brown was hardly equal to 
her task. The best two singers had colds, 
and with Amy for leading lady it was not 
likely, in any case, to be a musical treat. 
However, the audience was amiable, ap- 
plauding everything without offensive dis- 
crimination — the hoarse - voiced singers, 
and the singer they hardly heard at all, 
200 


DORCASTER DAYS 


with equal heartiness. At all events, as 
Amy said, whether it went off well or ill, 
the money for the tickets had been paid, 
and that was the important thing. 

It had been agreed that the Katy Ryan 
fund should be counted in the doctor’s 
office, for he was supposed to be especially 
interested in it, having been the means of 
arousing all this sympathy for his patient. 
So the small room he occupied over the 
post office was invaded the next morning 
by a rosy-cheeked company in little need 
of medical services, and upon the doctor’s 
operating table was poured out the pro- 
ceeds of the sale, the money paid to hear 
the unsuccessful operetta and the contents 
of numerous tin banks and purses, small 
private collections made during the summer. 
It made an imposing pile and seemed to 
justify the oft-expressed belief that now 
great things, though no one knew what, 
201 


DORCASTER DAYS 


could be done for Katy. However, the 
doctor, though he said nothing to dampen 
these roseate hopes, could not share them. 
The condition of Katy’s mind seemed to 
make all attempts to heal her body of no 
avail. She grew weaker every day, and he 
had begun to think that the poor child’s 
life- journey was nearly over. So, as he 
stood looking at the heap of money and at 
the jubilant faces around it, he stroked his 
beard thoughtfully and said nothing. 

‘T’m sure we shall have more than this,” 
said Amy; ‘Tor though every one was noti- 
fied that all contributions were to be brought 
here this morning, two or three girls haven’t 
come. Thea Croft, for instance.” 

“There she is now,” cried several voices, 
and, in fact, at that very moment, as if hear- 
ing herself called, Thea appeared in the 
doorway. 

“Oh, come in, come in!” every one 
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DORCASTER DAYS 


shouted. “How much money have you 
got?” 

Thea, who had entirely forgotten that 
this was the specified hour for contributions 
for the Katy Ryan fund to be handed in, 
felt very awkward. 

“I haven’t anything,” she shamefacedly 
admitted. 

“Nothing!” cried several voices in various 
shades of disapproval. 

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t a cent,” Thea 
answered. “I had forgotten that this was 
the time for contributions, and I came on 
another errand.” 

The doctor, who had been watching her 
with much interest, saw that she was re- 
gaining her composure. The declaration 
was made with independence and a little 
air of dignity that he liked. 

“Why, Thea!^^ said Amy Carew, “you 
had saved up over a dollar long ago — 
203 


DORCASTER DAYS 


the money you made selling huckleber- 
ries.” 

“I had another use for it — ” 

“She has actually spent the money she 
saved for Katy!” 

Amy spoke in a reproachful tone, look- 
ing at her fellow philanthropists in a way 
that said volumes. 

“Come, come,” the doctor interposed, 
putting his arm around Thea. “You sha’n’t 
blame her, very likely she has spent her 
money to better advantage.” 

A storm of protestation met his words, 
and some one exclaimed : — 

“As if anything could be better than to 
help a poor little cripple!” 

The doctor shook his head slowly, look- 
ing downward in a way he had, and then 
bade them remember that Katy’s case 
might be beyond the power of money to 
remedy, while there were other unfortu- 
204 


DORCASTER DAYS 


nates whose needs could be supplied by 
its use. 

Thea was sure, by the kindly pressure 
of his arm upon her shoulder, that he 
guessed and approved the way her money 
had been spent. And Amy also guessed, 
if she did not approve, for she suddenly 
burst out : — 

“I believe that the reason she has no 
contribution for Katy’s fund is because 
she has given her money to that miserable 
tramp.” 

“I never said that I had no contribution 
to make,” cried Thea, and the doctor felt 
a ripple as of inward laughter pass over 
her. “What I said was that I had no 
contribution in money. I came here on 
purpose to give my contribution to the 
doctor.” 

“Well, what is your wonderful contri- 
bution?” asked the incredulous voice of 


205 


DORCASTER DAYS 


a Dorcaster girl, while the others crowded 
curiously around her. 

The shame and awkwardness caused by 
their manifest disapproval, which had for 
a half moment driven her delightful errand 
from her mind, was gone, and Thea en- 
joyed her little triumph to the full. 

“It is Katy’s father!” she said, “for the 
tramp is Mike Ryan.” 

For a moment there was a profound 
silence. Then joyful cries arose on every 
side, while the doctor danced about like 
a boy and the girls manifested their feelings 
with an abandon justified by his hilarious 
example. Then came endless questions, and 
Thea was made to tell her story. 

“I suspected who the ‘tramp’ was,” 
she began, “when he came to himself and 
talked to me about his ‘swate Katy’ two 
days ago, but he immediately became 
unconscious again, and so we couldn’t be 
206 


DORCASTER DAYS 


sure. Father and I decided we wouldn’t 
tell any one — not even the doctor — it 
would be such a disappointment if he 
turned out to be some one else; and then 
we couldn’t have the fun of a surprise.” 

“Sly creatures, you Crofts!” murmured 
the doctor, pinching her cheek. 

“It seemed as if he never would speak 
again; for it set him back a good deal, 
talking so much at first, but this morning 
while Dave was with him he came out of 
his stupor. Dave wouldn’t let him say 
anything except to tell who he was, but 
by and by he talked a little to father. He 
seemed to be ashamed, and said his life 
wasn’t worth saving and it would be better 
for everybody if he had been left to die 
there by the roadside. However, when he 
heard how Katy has grieved for him, he 
said he would try to live for her sake, and 
father told him he would help him to 
207 


DORCASTER DAYS 


make his life valuable. The poor fellow 
cried, — he was so weak, you know, — and 
said he never had a chance in the world. 
Ever since he was a mite of a boy he has 
worked in the tin shops because no one 
would trust him outside. So it was settled 
that he should stay and work for father — 
he says he loves farming and horses — and 
he is going to have the little cottage the 
Miggses are just leaving. And now,” she 
ended, “how soon can Katy be told.^” 

The half-hour the doctor had promised 
to devote to the business of the Katy Ryan 
fund had now past. It was high time to 
make his visits to patients, and he proposed 
going first to Pleasant Corner, taking Thea 
with him, and then to the Croft farm. 

As the buggy drove off those who were 
left looked at each other and drew a long 
breath. 

“He went off without taking care of the 
208 


DORCASTER DAYS 


money,” said one of the girls, pointing to 
the pile on the table. “We mustn’t go and 
leave it here, for the office door is never 
locked.” 

“It doesn’t seem to be of much account, 
just now, does it.^” exclaimed a rather 
petulant voice. 

“Oh, it will come in all right. They’ll 
be glad enough to have it to fit up the 
Miggses’ cottage. Those Crofts are not to be 
allowed to do everything,” said Amy with 
her airy laugh. 

So the money was carefully tied up in 
the largest pocket-handkerchief the com- 
pany could furnish and they left the office 
in high spirits. 

Having walked a short distance toward 
the stable, where she had left Firefly, Amy 
suddenly stopped with a gesture of dismay. 

“I forgot to ask the doctor to come and 
see Rand,” she explained. “He has a bad 
209 


DORCASTER DAYS 


cold, and while mamma is away I have 
to look after him.’’ 

“You haven’t been looking after him 
very hard, have you?” one of her com- 
panions ventured, — a sarcasm that Amy, 
in her distress, let pass. 

“I’ll telephone the doctor in an hour 
or so. He would have gone to see Katy 
and to the Crofts first in any case, so it 
doesn’t make any real difference,” she 
said, in self-excuse, but she looked worried 
and no longer joined in the hilarity of the 
party. 


210 


CHAPTER XV 


evening was cool with a wild 
breeze; but Thea, who was too 
pleasurably excited to go to bed, lay 
wrapped in a warm shawl in her nest in 
the pine trees. The waving of the dark 
branches in the wind gave glimpses of 
a lucent sky and glittering stars, but she 
hardly noticed the beauty that ensphered 
her, so absorbed she was in the recollection 
of the events of that delightful day. 

First, making the necessary foundation 
for it, there was the unexpected return of 
her mother and the bliss of her enfolding 
arms, the slipping from her young shoulders 
of the too-heavy burdens she had so long 
borne. Then there was her little triumph 
in the doctor’s office when she had an- 


DORCASTER DAYS 


nounced that the injured tramp and Katy’s 
father were one and the same, and the 
jubilation that followed that momentary 
unpleasantness. In the afternoon there 
had been the meeting of father and child, 
the doctor judging the fever of impatience 
the delay would cause more injurious to 
Katy than the excitement of seeing him. 
What a favored mortal she was to be able 
to contribute, in the smallest degree, to 
that joyful occasion — to the happiness of 
the poor, long-suffering child! 

Katy was brought in the doctor’s arms 
into her father’s room and deposited in an 
armchair full of cushions that had been 
placed for her by his bedside. 

She had laid her head upon his breast 
with a sigh of perfect content, and he had 
pressed her to him with a tenderness un- 
expected in a man of his kind, which 
accounted, no doubt, for his child’s loyal 
212 


DORCASTER DAYS 


love. Then they took one long, long look 
at each other. 

‘‘There’s nothing lift av yer, Katy, but 
yer tinder hearrt,” said the father with a 
hard sob. 

She hid her face and cried, “Wot’s lift 
av ye, feyther, do be terrible quare.” 

“Niver moind me looks!” Mike hastened 
to say, remembering his promise to be 
cheerful. “Sure I’ll soon be recoverin’ me 
foine bloom — It’s not cryin’ ye are ? ” 

She touched his white face with her thin 
fingers, answering bravely as the tears fell : — 

“Sure for what wud I be cryin’ now? 
Yer face do be awful white, but yer ilegant 
whiskers are as rid as iver.” 

Now that the danger of breakdown was 
over, they were left by themselves, and 
when at last they parted again the wisdom 
of this meeting was proved by their brighter 
aspect. Before going back to Mrs. Hooley, 
213 


DORCASTER DAYS 


,Katy had a long nap, falling asleep with a 
radiant smile on her face. The doctor 
prophesied that now her recovery would 
be rapid. 

These pleasant thoughts occupied Thea’s 
mind for a long time, but after a while the 
south wind singing through the pines had 
a drowsy effect upon her. In fact, as 
before she had been too wide awake to go 
to bed, now she was too sleepy to go. Noth- 
ing could be pleasanter, however, than her 
tree-top cradle, so she lay still, without 
even thinking, only just conscious of the 
soft lullaby of the pines. But suddenly 
a distinct thought formed itself in her 
mind. 

Rand had often told her that the pine 
trees were continually whispering her name 
— “The-a, The-a!’’ 

She had always laughed at this fancy 
and wondered that he did not hear, as 
£14 


DORCASTER DAYS 


she did, their impressive “Hush-sh.” But 
now, all at once, it seemed to her that in 
the commotion among them made by this 
wild breeze she did hear her own name 
whispered. Instantly, however, she realized 
that the word was uttered by some human 
creature below, and looking over the side 
of the nest she saw a figure in a long cape, 
with streaming hair, making motions of 
distress and calling to her. 

Hurrying back into her room, Thea ran 
downstairs and opened a side door near 
which the figure stood. The candle she 
had caught up as she ran revealed the face 
of Amy, though so swollen with tears as 
to be strangely unlike the fair and sparkling 
face her friend knew. 

“Why, Amy,” she cried, drawing her 
into the house, aghast at her apparition at 
this hour of the night. 

“Oh, I couldn’t wait until morning to 
215 


DORCASTER DAYS 


see you!” she cried hysterically. ‘‘And I 
couldn’t stay at home where every one is 
so angry with me, though not so angry 
with me as I am with myself.” 

Thea put her arms around her, trying 
to calm her and to discover what trouble 
had driven her out in the night; but Amy 
kept on crying, repeating, “Oh, I couldn’t 
stay at home where every one is so angry 
with me!” And when Thea, who w^as really 
frightened, made a movement as if to leave 
her, she clung to her, crying : “ Don’t get your 
mother, I can’t see anybody. I can’t see 
anybody but you. Won’t you let me stay 
here and sleep with you, Thea, just as I used 
to do sometimes when we were little ? ” 

“They will be worrying about you at 
Lynwood, dear,” said Thea, leading her 
up the stairs. 

“No,” said Amy. “I left word with 
Eliza that I was coming here. They will 
216 


DORCASTER DAYS 


be glad, glad I tell you, to have me out of 
the house.” 

She burst into hysterical crying again, 
and Thea got off her cloak and after a while 
made her lie down on the bed. By degrees 
her sobs died away and she became quiet 
enough to tell her trouble. 

‘‘It’s about Rand,” she began. “He’s 
ill — dreadfully ill — the doctor says he has 
pneumonia; and it’s all my fault.” 

“Fot^r fault?” repeated Thea incredu- 
lously. 

“Yes, mine. He had a cold, you see, 
when mamma went away, and she told me 
to take good care of him. I promised 
that I would, but I was so taken up with 
the fair that I neglected him shamefully. 
I kept him out in the raw weather all that 
day when I knew — I must have known — 
that he ought to be careful. And then the 
next morning — why it was this very morn- 
217 


DORCASTER DAYS 


ing, wasn’t it ? — ^when I was at the doctor’s 
office I forgot to tell him that Rand was 
sick, although Rand himself said that he 
had better see him. Oh, I don’t see how 
I could forget, but I did — I did ! When 
I got home again Rand was in a chill and 
looked so dreadfully that at last I was 
frightened. I telephoned to the doctor 
again and again, but I couldn’t get him until 
noon. He came just after mamma got 
home.” 

Here Amy broke down again, recollect- 
ing the doctor’s indignation that he had 
not been summoned earlier and her mother’s 
distress. 

“You see it’s all my fault — all my fault !” 
she cried distractedly. “I cared for noth- 
ing but my own pleasure. Yes, it was the 
fun I cared for, though I pretended to my- 
self I was thinking only of Katy.” 

“Oh, now you are unfair to yourself!” 

218 


DORC ASTER DAYS 


cried Thea, pressing her hand. “You were 
really sorry for Katy.” 

“My charity, Rand told me once, was 
just a way of having fun, and it’s true,” she 
went on, unheeding Thea’s excuses for her. 
“jGT^ knew. He saw right through me, 
but now he won’t have me blamed at all. 
Think of that, Thea! I tell you, that cuts. 
But the doctor was so angry with me; for 
he seemed to blame me for everything — 
everything, and he made me see what an 
affectation, what a pose, my charity is — 
this part of Lady Bountiful I have been 
playing — and all the time neglecting the 
claims of my own flesh and blood. And 
mother — you know how she always takes 
my part at such times and how she says, 
‘Amy means right, she has a kind heart and 
is only thoughtless’ — well, mamma stood 
by and never said a word in my defence. 
Not that I blame her! I don’t — I don’t!” 


219 


DORCASTER DAYS 


She hid her face in the pillow with a 
fresh outburst of tears, and her friend’s 
effort at consolation was unavailing. There 
could be no doubt of the sincerity of her 
grief and repentance. It had the true ring, 
and Thea knew that it would not leave her 
as before. 

As Thea sat beside her, helpless and dis- 
tressed, she suddenly heard the sound of 
carriage wheels. 

‘T think your mother has sent for 
you,” she said, leaning over the poor 
child. 

Amy jumped up, crying, ‘‘You go down, 
Thea, and tell Michael I can’t go home. 
Oh, how can mamma want me.^^” 

“Because she knows how you are griev- 
ing and she wants to comfort you. Per- 
haps she wants you to comfort her. I 
would go, Amy, if I were you,” Thea 
entreated. 


220 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Amy went to the window and looked out. 

“Yes,” she said, wiping her eyes, “it’s 
our carriage. If I go I may be able to 
help in some way, and I won’t run away 
out of shame.” 


221 


CHAPTER XVI 


R AND’S illness was very serious, and 
although he pulled through it left his 
lungs in such a condition that it was thought 
necessary to take him to a milder climate 
for the winter. This was a bitter disap- 
pointment to him, for he had gained so 
much during the last months that the 
doctor had told him he might read and 
study again and he had made many plans 
for the year. 

Mrs. Carew had intended, even before 
her mother’s illness, to spend the winter 
with her, feeling that she was too old and 
delicate to be left to herself or to the care 
and companionship of hirelings. If she 
felt in that way then, how much more now 
when she was so much more feeble! The 


222 


DORCASTER DAYS 


poor lady was almost distracted between 
the claims of her mother and son, but she 
dared not let Rand, who was careless of 
his health at all times, travel now by himself. 

Nothing, however, seemed to interfere 
with the plan for Amy’s winter. It was 
to be spent at the Redmonds’ in New York, 
and she was to go to school with Cora. 
This had long been the desire of her heart, 
for she was tired of studying with a gov- 
erness and wished the excitement and stimu- 
lus of school life. It was difficult for her to 
keep the sparkle out of her eyes whenever 
the winter plans were alluded to, although 
she tried to chasten her joy with the thought 
of Rand’s disappointment and her mother’s 
distress. 

The cheerfulness with which Rand met 
this second disappointment filled her with 
astonishment. Whatever his secret hurt 
might be, he never spoke of it, especially 
223 


DORCASTER DAYS 


before Amy, and his chief concern seemed 
to be the anxiety of his mother and the 
inconvenience to her of this journey south- 
ward. Again and again he assured her of 
the needlessness of her going with him, as 
he was perfectly able and willing to go 
alone, and urged her to give up the idea 
and go to the poor grandmother who needed 
her more. 

It was while he was arguing in this 
strain one day that Amy saw her opportu- 
nity. For the first time the thought dawned 
upon her that she might give up her own 
plans and go with him to Santa Barbara 
in her mother’s place. In her ardent desire 
to overcome her selfishness, at the time 
when her remorse was at its height, she 
had positively longed to make a sacrifice 
for him, but now, although a deeper affec- 
tion for him had been awakened in her by 
the danger he had been in, and by a new 
224 


DORCASTER DAYS 


kindness in his manner toward her ever 
since that first fatal kindness on the day 
of the fair, the very thought of giving up 
the winter with Cora made her realize 
how much she had counted on it, and to 
make the sacrifice seemed utterly beyond 
her. And yet here was the opportunity, 
at last, to atone for that neglect of him 
that had led to so much suffering on his 
part, to her mother’s anxiety, and the 
necessary change in her plans. 

A dozen times in as many hours she 
determined to make the sacrifice and as 
many more assured herself that she could 
not, but at last she sought her mother and 
breathlessly made the proposition. 

Mrs. Carew closed the book she was 
reading and drew Amy down on a chair 
beside her own. She was heartily pleased 
that her thoughtless child, called selfish 
sometimes by those who loved her less, 
225 


DORCASTER DAYS 


had suggested a plan that would call for 
so much self-denial. She said nothing, but 
patted Amy’s hand as a sign of her approval, 
and Amy, whose happy hopes were being 
hidden behind a dull curtain of renuncia- 
tion, was too occupied in controlling her- 
self to be voluble. 

“As if I would let you two children go 
to California by yourselves!” said Mrs. 
Carew at last. “Did you really think, 
dear, that I would 

Amy’s pink cheeks grew pinker, and 
she answered with that admirable honesty 
of hers, — 

“I — I thought perhaps you wouldn’t. 
But I’m sure it’s very unfair that I, who 
was to blame for Rand’s sickness, should 
be the only one to give up nothing in con- 
sequence. I know I shall feel mean when- 
ever I think of poor Rand spending his 
winter so differently than he intended, and 
226 


DORCASTER DAYS 


of you worrying about grandmother. And 
I dare say when too late,” she ended, ‘‘you 
will be sorry you didn’t let me take your 
place — ” 

Mrs. Carew opened her book again with 
the remark that to argue the question 
would be simply a waste of time, and Amy 
went back to her preparations for school 
with a joyful sense of escape. 

Still the disagreeable feeling of self- 
dissatisfaction was soon as keen as ever. 
It gave her no peace. It quite spoiled 
her pleasant anticipations of school life. 
Again and again she assured herself that 
in offering to go with Rand she had done 
all that she could, but she could not shake 
off the impression that she was behaving 
selfishly and meanly. 

One morning, however, after a refresh- 
ing, dreamless night she awoke with a 
clear vision of whither the path of duty 
227 


DORCASTER DAYS 


led. She awoke with the distinct thought 
in her consciousness that although her 
mother would not trust her to go to Cali- 
fornia with Rand, she would gladly let 
her stay with her grandmother in Penfield. 

But if it had required such a mighty 
effort to bring herself to make that first 
sacrifice, — a course which included many 
pleasures, the joy of travel, of seeing inter- 
esting scenes, and of meeting new, inter- 
esting people, — she could never force her- 
self to make the other, which meant for her 
a whole winter passed in a dull country 
town with a dear but very dull old lady. 
Her grandmother’s house was a somewhat 
gloomy brick one that stood near the 
road behind a row of hemlocks, and no 
one ever came there except the minister, 
the doctor, and, on rare occasions, some 
old lady as dull as grandmother herself. 
Her only companions would be grand- 
228 


DORCASTER DAYS 


mother, Miss Whipple, grandmother’s nurse, 
and Miss Brown ; for, of course, her mother 
would insist that the governess should 
go with her, that her education should not 
come to a standstill. She thought of the 
twenty or more young creatures matching 
their wits in class at school, and turned 
her face to the wall with a groan. 

All day Amy’s lips were sealed. That 
evening, as usual, the little family were 
together in the library, Rand and his 
mother reading, and Amy curled up with 
Flossie on cushions before the fire. For 
a while she played absently with the little 
dog; then the attitude of Rand, his elbows 
on the table, his hands making a pent over 
his eyes from which he stealthily gazed at 
his mother’s sad face, caught her attention. 
Suddenly he reached over and laid his 
hand upon hers, saying, as if he had read 
her thoughts : — 


229 


DORCASTER DAYS 


“Oh, mother, why won’t you let me go 
to California by myself? It will be far 
better for me than to see you worrying as 
you will if you leave grandmother alone.” 

His voice, the tenderness of his manner, 
and his forgetfulness of himself in his 
eagerness to spare their mother anxiety, 
could but impress Amy, it was so unlike 
his old self-absorption. For the first time 
she realized how he had changed. He was 
really considerate of others, while she was 
still acting a part. For yes, she had counted 
on her mother’s refusal to let her go to 
Santa Barbara in her place. She had no 
idea that her sacrifice would be accepted. 
She was small and contemptible and always 
would be so. A sense of shame and self- 
disgust came over her. Then her higher self 
triumphed. She jumped up and came for- 
ward, her eyes very bright and her lips 
trembling a little. 


230 


DORCASTER DAYS 


‘‘Mother needn’t leave grandmother 
alone,” she heard herself say, “for I will 
go to Penfield and stay with her.” 

“You, why that’s a good idea,” cried 
Rand, turning to look at her. “Do you 
hear, mother, Amy offers to stay with 
grandmother ? ” 

“I have been waiting for some time for 
ner to propose it,” said her mother. “I 
knew she would.'" 

And Amy knew that this time her sac- 
rifice was to be accepted. 


231 


CHAPTER XVII 



^HE winter saw these summer friends 


widely separated. Amy was the first 
to go, being settled with her grandmother 
in Penfield before Mrs. Carew and Rand 
started for California. The house was 
left to a care-taker, and the festivities of 
Lynwood no longer enlivened the town. 

The family circle at the Crofts’ was re- 
duced by two, for Mike Ryan, whether 
from gratitude for the care he had re- 
ceived or because he had a natural taste 
for the work, principally the care of 
animals, proved himself so useful on 
the farm that Mr. Croft found he could 
spare both of his sons. So, soon after 
Fanshawe returned to his art studies, 
Dave’s chance .came, and he joined an 


232 


DORCASTER DAYS 


expedition to explore the forests of the 
wilder parts of South America. 

The installation of the Ryans in the 
Miggses’ cottage or preparations for that 
event helped Thea to bear the loneliness 
caused by the absence of both her brothers. 
In the first place Mr. Croft, who had it 
papered and painted, left to her the choice 
of colors and styles. Then came the de- 
lightful task of furnishing; for there was 
hardly anything left of the scanty store of 
furniture that the Ryans had used in their 
poor little apology of a home at Pleasant 
Corner. 

It seemed very hard to Thea that Amy 
should miss the pleasure of spending the 
money which she had done more than 
any one else to raise, and she faithfully 
tried to carry out all her wishes. The 
wisdom of some of Amy’s more fanciful 
ideas were much laughed at and opposed, 
233 


DORCASTER DAYS 


as, for instance, her wish to have white 
muslin curtains at the windows. If cur- 
tains there must be, cheese-cloth ones, it 
was maintained by the practical majority, 
were plenty good enough. In fact, they 
were too good, as curtains of any kind 
were, according to these critics, an absurd 
superfluity. It turned out, however, that 
they proved, in Katy’s case, such an in- 
centive to neat housekeeping that before 
the winter was over similar ones were dis- 
tributed among the untidy housekeepers of 
Pleasant Corner, cheese-cloth curtains as 
a factor in the reformation of an uncleanly 
neighborhood having apparently never be- 
fore been fully appreciated. 

“Sure they do make anny room look so 
ilegant,” Mrs. Hooley once said, when Thea 
and Katy found her in the unwonted occu- 
pation of dusting the furniture, “that a bit 
o’ dust puts you to shame.” 

234 


DORCASTER DAYS 


The interest in Katy led by degrees to 
a change for the better in Pleasant Corner. 
If, by kindness, tact, and what he called 
“a chance,” a sober, self-respecting member 
of the community could be made of drunken, 
shameless Mike Ryan, no one need be de- 
spaired of. The problem of Pleasant Cor- 
ner was not hopeless after all, and in a 
right brotherly spirit the Dorcaster people 
set to work. In the plans for the improve- 
ment of her former neighbors, no one was 
more interested than Katy, who, with her 
intimate knowledge of their needs, often 
pointed to the right way of helping them. 

For poor Amy the winter proved a long 
one, but she never repented having spent 
it with her grandmother, if for no other 
reason than the comfort she was able to 
give her mother by her weakly bulletins 
of the dear old lady’s improving health 
and better spirits. 


235 


DORCASTER DAYS 


The first week, to be sure, she suffered 
a misery of homesickness and rebellion; 
for it seemed to her she could not endure 
the monotony of those uneventful days, 
exactly alike, which passed so slowly and 
soberly in her grandmother’s home, and 
she actually began a letter to her mother 
declaring that she had already repented 
of her bargain and begging to be released 
from it. 

The house was very spacious, the rooms 
so immense that only a large family circle 
could make them seem homelike. It had 
been built just outside the town in the 
good old-fashioned style adapted to a 
generous hospitality, in what was then a 
very aristocratic neighborhood. In front 
of it was a row of very old hemlocks, which 
gave it an air of elegant reserve. But the 
town, which had sadly degenerated, had 
grown in the opposite direction from the 
236 


DORCASTER DAYS 


Goldthwaite house. Fashion had folded 
its tents and silently stolen away. There 
were few left to enjoy her hospitality, even 
if grandmother had the heart to offer it. 
Even the elegant reserve was gone, two 
trees having been cut out in the hemlock 
screen to give to the lonely occupant a 
view of the outside world. 

“Amy,” the old lady said to her grand- 
daughter who was moping by the window 
the morning after her arrival, “isn’t some- 
body going by.^"” 

“Yes, grandmother,” said Amy. “It’s 
a boy with a milk can.” 

“ Isn’t somebody going by ? ” asked grand- 
mother again, half an hour later. 

“Yes, grandmother,” said Amy. “A 
darky with a bundle.” 

“Isn’t somebody going by.^^” asked the 
old lady for the third time, a long hour 
having elapsed. 


237 


DORCASTER DAYS 


‘‘Yes, grandmother, there’s a cow going 
by,” replied Amy. 

“Considerable passing this morning,” 
said grandmother. 

This little anecdote Amy found service- 
able afterwards, whenever she wished to 
describe life at Penfield. 

By the time that first week ended Amy’s 
common sense came to her rescue, and she 
determined that her sacrifice should not be 
made in vain. She would leave off moping 
and give grandmother “the time of her life.” 
In this by no means difficult task, nature 
having well fitted her for it, she soon forgot 
that she was making any sacrifice at all. 
So the winter wore away. 

It was April before Mrs. Carew and 
Rand started for the East, and May before 
the little family were reunited at Lynwood. 

One day, soon after Amy’s happy home- 
238 


DORCASTER DAYS 


coming, Dr. Derby, going as once before 
in the course of this tale to the Croft farm 
one late afternoon, found the family at 
supper in the pine woods; only on this 
occasion they had guests. 

As he approached, a great fellow, who 
was sitting cross-legged between Dave and 
Thea, jumped up and seized his hand. 

‘‘Bless my soul,” ejaculated the doctor, 
“if it isn’t Rand!” 

“Yes, isn’t he big, isn’t he splendid.?” 
cried Amy with pretty sisterly pride as she 
took his other hand in hers. 

The doctor looked slowly but beamingly 
from the brother to the sister. Big and 
handsome as Rand undoubtedly was, there 
was something about Amy that touched 
him more. Her small, sparkling face wore 
a new fineness, and by his hearty grip upon 
her hand she was sure he knew all she had 
conquered in herself since that wretched 
239 


DORCASTER DAYS 


occasion when he had openly denounced 
her. 

‘‘Did you ever think he’d look like this 
she went on. “Why, he is as big as Dave.” 

“In one direction anyhow, for I go all 
to legs. It would trouble him now to 
pick me up and carry me across the street 
under his arm. But you never heard of 
that mean advantage he took of his superior 
size which explains the grudge I once had 
against him, did you. Doctor?” 

Rand looked laughingly at Dave’s grin- 
ning face, bronzed as an Arab’s by a trop- 
ical sun, as he told with zest the story that 
had once seemed to bear so hard upon 
himself. 

“Sit down and have supper with us, 
Doctor,” said the mistress of the house, as 
soon as she could make herself heard. 
“You have come just in time.” 

“Yes, because we are all going to tell 
240 


DORCASTER DAYS 


our plans for the future,” added Thea, 
‘‘and we want to know yours.” 

“But I haven’t any plans,” he said. 
“I’ve no time to make ’em; let alone carry- 
ing them out.” 

“We’ll make some for you then,” said 
Amy, making him sit down beside her ; 
“first, to take supper with your friends 
now and then.” 

“I know your plan, sweetheart. To 
wheedle everybody into doing just what 
you wish. And I guessed Rand’s plans 
long ago.” 

Rand shook his head. “No, Doctor, I 
had only one plan in those days — to make 
a great figure in the world. How glad I 
am I had to give it up, for I’ve found out 
that if I had not, I should miss everything 
that’s worth while.” 

“I knew if you only had time you’d 
find that out,” said the doctor. 

Ml 


DORCASTER DAYS 


As the repast proceeded the talk grew 
more and more earnest, and the vistas 
opening before bright young eyes were 
described in all the glowing colors that 
belong to the morning of life. But, at 
last, when it was over and everything, as 
it seemed, had been said, as if impressed 
by the beauty and solemnity of the place 
and the hour, a silence fell upon them — 
the impressive silence in the woods that 
attends the going down of the daytime 
queen. Golden lanes into the grove, bright 
and lovely as the dream-path of their 
future, were made by the long rays of the 
sun, and through the mellow atmosphere 
thrilled the fluty call-notes of the thrush — 

“Tu-la-lee. Come to me.” 

Presently in pairs, Rand and Thea, Dave 
and Amy, obeyed, sauntering happily down 
golden paths into the dusk of the pines. 


242 


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